


Wasted on the Dead and Dreaming

by LinneaKou



Series: Whistling Past the Graveyard [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Gen, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, Offscreen character death, POV Third Person Limited, Possession, Pre-Slash, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Steve looked right at his friend, and he felt just as disoriented as he had when he woke up in Munich. “What the hell is going on?”</em>
</p><p><em>Bucky winced.</em> I think you’ve spontaneously developed psychic powers.</p><p> <em>And well. Wasn’t that just great.</em></p><p> </p><p>When Captain Steve Rogers got back from his tour of duty, he didn't expect to come back with the ability to communicate with the dead.</p><p>When Tony Stark moved back into his childhood home, he didn't expect his dead father to still be inhabiting it.</p><p>When Tony hired Steve to investigate the ghosts of his family mansion, they didn't expect to be swept up in cover-ups, corporate sabotage, and murder.</p><p>Now, time is running out as increasingly disturbing dreams haunt Tony and the ghost of Howard Stark proves to be the least of Steve's problems. If they're lucky, maybe they won't end up ghosts too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue / left me with some feathers in my hand

Steve didn’t remember the explosion. It was perfectly natural for that to happen, the doctor in Munich - a kind old man named Erskine - reassured him.

 

What wasn’t natural was the vivid dream he’d had before he’d awakened in the military hospital.

A man he hadn’t seen since childhood, his old imaginary friend Bucky, had stopped him before he was able to step into an elevator.

_“No, buddy, it’s not your time yet.”_

Steve had stopped and looked at his old friend, confused. _“But…”_

 _“I know it’s painful, but you have to go back. Don’t worry, Stevie-boy. I won’t be leaving you again.”_ Bucky had grinned that devil-may-care grin that Steve had never quite been able to forget, even after he outgrew his invisible playmate some ten or fifteen years ago.

 _“I have to get on--”_ Steve had insisted, pushing at Bucky’s hand. _“Everyone else already went up--”_

And then the doors had opened, and there were the rest of his teammates, his platoon, the Howling Commandos. They were all looking sadly at him from the inside of the elevator.

 _“Steve…”_ Peggy had said, and she looked like she was crying. _“I’m so sorry.”_

 _“Sorry for what?”_ Steve answered dumbly. _“I’m coming with you.”_

 _“No, I’m tellin’ you you’re not!”_ Bucky had interrupted. _“You’ve still got stuff to do.”_

_“I--”_

And then his mother had pushed through the crowd. She hadn’t gotten off the elevator, she just stood right within the doors. She shook her head.

 _“Stevie,”_ she’d whispered. _“Steve, I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry, but James is right. It’s not your time yet.”_

Steve had begun to protest, and Bucky had manhandled him away as the doors closed and the elevator began to rise…

 

He woke up, and was unsurprised to find out that he was the sole survivor of the ambush that had befallen his platoon. It didn’t make the ache go away.

With the heavy dosage of painkillers and tranqs in his system, he dozed off again. When the drugs wore off once more, he found he wasn’t alone in his hospital room.

_Hey, buddy. Long time no see._

Steve had panicked for a second, enough that the nurses had rushed in to check on him. From the way they acted, he knew they couldn’t see the tall, dark-haired figure sitting in the chair next to his bed.

 _Don’t freak out, Steve,_ Bucky had said. _You’re gonna scare these nice nurses._

And Steve had allowed them to check him over and try to feed him some ice chips to soothe his throat - up until the previous day, they said, there had been a breathing tube in - and once he’d reassured them that the heightened heart rate was due to his sudden waking up again. They’d left him in peace, telling him to get more rest and let himself heal more.

He didn’t sleep, however. He instead managed to have a chat with his imaginary friend.

...who turned out to not be imaginary at all.


	2. (every night) these sillhouettes appear above my head

Back when Steve had been a kid, he hadn’t really been the healthiest specimen of underaged human in Brooklyn. At four-foot-seven and a hundred pounds soaking wet, he was downright scrawny and sickly to boot. He’d spent so much time indoors, grappling with asthma and various bugs and viruses that his mother had never been able to afford decent medical care for, that he’d taken to entertaining himself with an imaginary friend who had been there since he could remember.

Bucky was a tall man with neatly-parted brown hair and a handsome face. He was wearing a uniform (Steve had discovered later that it was one from the WWII-era Army) and was always up to playing with Steve and telling him stories about his time fighting Nazis, which launched Steve’s never-ending fascination with the second World War. He’d tried to draw his friend for years, too, which ended up getting him into art school after a long while. The problem was, constantly talking to Bucky made his teachers become concerned about his mental health. The school shrink had convinced him that Bucky wasn’t real, just part of his overactive imagination. By the time he was eleven, he didn’t see Bucky anymore.

Of course, finding out that James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes had actually existed and fought in World War II had been a bit of a shock.

So having the man - the _ghost_ \- sitting in his hospital room and looking exactly the way Steve remembered him was just more proof that he’d never been crazy. It was strangely comforting.

“What happened to me?” he finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. _You nearly died,_ he answered. _I guess the whole thing jogged your brain and let you see me again. Among other things._

“This is insane,” Steve muttered, grinding the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “This cannot be happening.”

_You know damn well that it is,_ Bucky answered cheerfully. _Stevie, you never lost your artist’s soul and your open mind. You just forgot how to see what was right in front of you._

“That explains a lot.”

_Well, I’m not really allowed to explain too much._ Bucky jabbed an incorporeal finger in his face. _I mean, I’m your Guide and all, but I can’t be giving away the whole game plan right out of the gate, can I?_

“You could at least explain what a guide is,” Steve grumbled.

Bucky leaned back in the chair, and the chair actually creaked. _A Guide is a person or a spirit assigned to someone living. Basically, I’m here to help you. Like Jiminy Cricket._

They had a staring contest, and then Bucky laughed, which rang in Steve’s head like wind chimes. _Never mind that, you don’t need a conscience. Never did. You just need someone to kick your ass when you’re being an idiot._

“So you’re like a guardian angel then?” Steve had said, trying to make sense of Bucky’s role.

_You see a freakin’ halo or wings around me? I’m just a spirit guide. I was a person once, and now I’m helping your scrawny ass out._ Bucky threw his hands up, but Steve could sense he was just being dramatic on purpose. _The things I do for you, and you don’t even show me any gratitude._

“You kept me from moving on, from going to heaven,” Steve said dully. “Am I supposed to be thanking you for that?”

_I told you before, it’s not your time. You’ve got stuff to live for here._

“Peggy’s dead!” Steve had growled, and his heart rate on the monitor started jumping. He quickly took a deep breath to calm himself, then glared up at Bucky. “I was gonna marry her, Buck,” he finally said quietly.

_She would’ve been so happy if you had,_ Bucky answered gently. _Steve could feel sympathy radiating from him. She misses you like crazy, as much as you miss her._

Steve curled up in on himself, and he was ashamed to feel a sob ripping out of his chest.

_There’s no shame in cryin’ when you’ve lost someone, Stevie,_ Bucky said.

“Just… can you leave me alone a sec?” Steve managed to grit out.

_Sure thing, my friend. I’ll be back to check on you later, all right?_

Steve didn’t answer, and he felt it when Bucky left.

 

True to his word, his former-imaginary-friend-turned-Guide (or, at least, he’d always been a Guide and Steve just hadn’t understood that) popped back in throughout the rest of Steve’s stay in the Munich hospital. Steve was given an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart when he arrived in the States again. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it, so he refused the ceremony and had it presented to him in his hotel room in D.C. He spent the rest of the day attending services for his fallen comrades… hardest of all was seeing Peggy’s young niece, clinging to her mother’s arm as Peggy was lowered into the ground.

By the time Arlington emptied out, Steve was practically vibrating out of his skin. He needed to leave D.C.

As in, he needed to leave that night.

He was in the airport when made contact with an old friend of his in New York.

“Steve! Oh God, it’s good to hear your voice!” Sam had practically yelled when he picked up the phone call.

“Sam.” Steve couldn’t help but grin. “Same here. Um, listen, I’m currently still in D.C. and I don’t really want to stay down here. Can I crash on your couch?”

Sam laughed. “Buddy, I just got rid of a roommate. You can have the other room, it’ll be just like college all over again!”

_This is a good idea,_ Bucky said approvingly. Steve grimaced at him, and he just grinned back. _What? I liked Sam. Still do. He’s a good guy._

Steve covered the mouthpiece on his phone. “Are you telling me to move in with him?”

_Pretty much, yep._

Well, that cemented it. He spoke into the phone again: “What the hell, I’ll take it.”

“Yes! All right, I’m livin’ with a war hero! Hey, you still go running at the crack of dawn?”

Steve knew Sam well enough to tell he was teasing. It still made him massively uncomfortable. “Careful that you don’t piss yourself, man,” he said, and he managed to sound pretty steady. “And I’m thinking of getting back into that habit.”

“You need a crowd to pick you up from the airport? I can get Clint and Natasha to come with, they’re both going crazy with worrying about you.”

Steve closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Great, I’ll give ‘em a call. When are you flying in?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh. Wow. Uh, the other room doesn’t have a bed yet--”

Steve laughed. “I’ve still got a mattress in storage. I can make do with that until the dust settles.”

“Cool,” Sam replied, still brimming with unbridled cheer. “We can have an unpacking party. You still like Guinness?”

“I’ll take anything you got, Sam. Don’t go out shopping for me.” Steve hefted his carry-on onto his shoulder as his flight was called. “I’m boarding. I’ll be landing in a few hours, I’ll call you when I get off the plane.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Sam said gleefully.

 

The first thing that he noticed when he managed to drag his bags out of the terminal, refusing a cart or assistance of the workers, was Natasha’s fiery head of hair.

“Sweet baby Jesus, Rogers!” Clint called, and they mobbed him. There was a lot of hugging and back-slapping. Steve was shocked when Natasha even pecked a kiss on his cheek before she wordlessly claimed his carry-on bags as Clint hefted his larger duffel over his shoulder. Sam was too busy clapping him on the shoulder and herding the lot of them over to the waiting taxi at the curb.

The cabbie took a look at the army-issue baggage, raised an eyebrow, and turned off the meter.

_Gotta say, I wish I got that kind of appreciation back when I lived in Brooklyn,_ Bucky said in Steve’s ear, and Steve had to stifle a laugh.

Natasha looked at him oddly, but said nothing.

Some time later, Steve was a bit surprised when they bypassed the storage facility where he’d put all of his worldly possessions before shipping out with the Army. “Uh, we still need to pick up my mattress--” he tried to say.

“Don’t worry about it, Rogers,” Sam cut him off.

Belatedly, Steve remembered that Sam was listed on the storage unit lease as a secondary contact. “You didn’t.”

The grin on Sam’s face confirmed it.

_Told you I liked him,_ Bucky said.

 

Thus, Steve walked into Sam’s (and now his) second-story apartment to find that all of his stuff had been taken out of storage and moved into the recently-vacated bedroom.

“We managed to find you a decent bed-frame,” Clint said, grinning. “Took five of us to haul it upstairs and set it up. We bought it off of Luke Cage and Jessica Jones downstairs.”

“You didn’t have to,” Steve said dumbly. Bucky was being overbearingly gleeful in the back of his head.

“They would have given it to you free of charge,” Natasha replied with a smirk. “We had to talk them into accepting money.”

Steve would have to thank them. Profusely. Somehow. He was just musing through that when someone knocked on the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam said, and let in their neighbors.

Steve had met Luke and Jess some time ago, when he first helped Sam move in. In the time that he’d been overseas, they’d apparently managed to have a kid, an adorable five-month-old girl named Danielle.

The Cage-Jones family was followed by Danny Rand, who turned out to be the sixth member of the Redecorate-Steve’s-Bedroom plan. He was carrying three large pizzas from the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria down the street.

Clint disappeared to dig around in the fridge in the kitchen and emerged with two six-packs of a local brewery’s summer ale. The food was set out, paper plates and napkins located, and within half an hour it was as if Steve had never left.

 

He woke up that night in a cold sweat.

_Steve, buddy, you’re not in danger,_ Bucky said urgently. _Just calm down._

But there it was, something almost literally prodding at his head like an electric spike. He curled up on his bed, wondering if he’d eaten something rotten.

_I was afraid this was gonna happen,_ Bucky muttered. _Steve. Listen to me. There are some… people in this building who want to talk to you._

“What?” Steve managed to say, but then the covers on his bed flew back.

His eyes widened and he scrambled off the mattress. “Holy shit!” He glanced around, and Bucky appeared next to him. “Was that you?”

_No,_ Bucky answered tersely. _No, it wasn’t me. This apartment building is haunted._

Steve blinked at him. “Wait, what?”

And then the voices started.

There were too many of them, varying levels of “loud” - they weren’t physically present, if that even made sense - and they were all talking at the same time.

“Oh god.” Steve tried to cover his ears. “Make it stop, please!”

He felt Bucky sort of shiver next to him, and everything fell silent.

_Steve? Steve, you’re okay. I scared them off, buddy. You can relax now._ Bucky was crouched next to him - when had he ended up on the floor? - and wasn’t actually touching him, but Steve had the impression of his shoulder being rubbed comfortingly.

Steve looked right at his friend, and he felt just as disoriented as he had when he woke up in Munich. “What the hell is going on?”

Bucky winced. _I think you’ve spontaneously developed psychic powers._

And well. Wasn’t that just great.

 

Sam, of course, noticed how jumpy Steve was over breakfast the next day. He correctly ascertained that Steve hadn’t slept well. He even asked - gently, even professionally - if there were nightmares involved.

Steve smiled weakly. “A little,” he answered. “Mostly, sleeping in a strange new place is weird, you know?”

Sam nodded, the tiny little crease between his eyebrows not going entirely away. “Yeah. No problem, man. Sorry you had such a rough night.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve reassured him.

_You could tell him, you know._ Bucky was at his side, speaking steadily in his mind’s ear. _I’m completely willing to do something to prove I’m here. I’ll pass on messages from his family. Whatever it takes._

“Steve?”

Steve realized belatedly that he’d kind of zoned out. “I’m fine, Sam.”

_This isn’t good for your state of mind, Steve. You’ve got things to do and people to help. You’ve gotta heal, and having your friends by your side will help you._ Bucky was starting to insist, loudly. _Besides, you haven’t mastered the whole ‘talk-to-me-without-talking-out-loud’ thing yet._

What did that have to do with anything? Steve thought it over, then sighed. “Sam,” he said slowly.

Sam literally set down his fork hard enough to make it clink on the counter. His back straightened so fast that Steve felt whiplashed.

“All right, buddy, you know I’m here for you,” Sam said preemptively, fixing him with a very serious I-am-a-social-worker stare.

Steve wanted to faceplant in his eggs. “Geez, Sam, it’s not PTSD. It’s--”

He cut himself off. There was no way for him to explain without sounding insane.

He felt Bucky mentally nudge him, a friendly supportive nudge against his mind. He wasn’t alone in this.

Steve took a deep breath to stabilize himself. “Ever since I woke up after… after,” he swallowed, and Sam’s gaze didn’t even waver. He just waited for Steve to work past it. After a moment, Steve pressed on. “Ever since I woke up in Munich, I’ve been… not alone.”

Sam’s face remained impassive, but Steve was starting to get a niggling sense that he’d managed to confuse his friend.

“I’m hearing things,” Steve managed to blurt out. “But I’m not crazy. I’m hearing things and I’m seeing things, and the thing is…” He glanced to the left, where Bucky was clearly -- to him, at least -- standing. “They’re all people. And they’re already dead. And there’re a lot of dead people in this building, and they were all trying to talk to me last night.”

Sam’s eyebrows finally went up, cracking the deadpan mask he’d managed to keep on.

“I can prove it,” Steve said hurriedly. “There’s one of them, Bucky -- he said he’s my guide, he’s willing to prove he’s here.”

Bucky grinned encouragingly at him and strode over to the window.

Steve shot him a warning glare. “When you ask for proof, at least.”

Bucky made a face at him.

“Hm,” Sam hummed, drawing it out for a while.

“I swear I’m not lying or crazy, Sam. When have I ever done something like this?” Steve suddenly really regretted even sitting down to breakfast… why hadn’t he just tried to sleep in a bit more, let Sam head off to work before he got up?

“Okay, say I actually would like some proof--” Sam finally said out loud, turning to face in the direction of the window.

Bucky slammed an open hand on the window, hard enough for the loud _BANG_ to startle both Sam and Steve. Sam whirled around and gave Steve a wide-eyed look of utter shock. He got up and moved to the window, and Bucky gleefully stepped aside, waggling his eyebrows at Steve.

Sam peered closely at the window with his mouth open. “There’s a handprint on here,” he said slowly. He tentatively probed it with a finger. “It’s not wiping off.”

“That was Bucky,” Steve confirmed, massaging his temples. “He’s having fun with the proof thing.”

“Holy shit.”

_Tell him his grandmother wanted him to have his grandfather’s pocket watch, and that she wrote it in the will but his cousin took it before anyone could do it. His cousin has it and he’ll give it up if Sam goes and confronts him._ Bucky was back at Steve’s side, and Steve sighed again.

“Bucky said he talked to your grandmother. That watch that your grandfather had? She wanted it to go to you in the will, but your cousin took it before the will was read. You could go confront him about it and he’d give it up.”

Sam’s head whipped around and his mouth dropped. “That sonuvabitch, I knew he had that watch! Wait--” he blinked at Steve. “My grandmother died when you were overseas, how did you--”

“Bucky,” Steve reminded him. “Bucky’s been keeping everything out for me.”

“Where was he last night when everything came in all at once?” Sam asked, and Bucky winced.

_I might’ve popped upstairs to check in on everyone… I didn’t think I’d be gone long enough for stuff to start happening._

“He was checking on the Commandos. And Peggy.” Steve didn’t elaborate.

Sam slowly made his way back to the counter and sat down on the stool. “Damn, man,” he said. “I always heard stories about people that could do this kind of stuff, but… I never thought…”

“Me neither,” Steve confessed. “I practically lost it when I woke up and Bucky was sitting next to me. Last night was Losing It 2.0, to be honest.”

Sam rubbed his face and considered Steve carefully. “What do you want to do, man?”

“I have no idea,” Steve answered truthfully.

“You could do this for other people,” Sam suggested. “There’s bound to be tons of people with dead loved ones who want to talk to them.”

“Oh, god, Sam--”

_I like this plan,_ Bucky said.

“You don’t get input on this right now,” Steve said, making sure to twist to the side so Sam knew he wasn’t talking to him.

Bucky held up his hands in the universal “I’m unarmed” gesture. Steve snorted and resumed poking his breakfast with his knife.

Sam shook his head. “No, no, you said he was your guide? Hell yes, he gets input!”

_I knew I liked you!_ Bucky crowed.

“He likes you,” Steve grumbled.

“Feeling’s mutual, man. We’re gonna whip your ass into shape between the two of us. Maybe Natasha, too. And Clint, but only if we’re completely desperate.”

Steve pushed his breakfast aside and let his forehead thump to the cold countertop. He let out a long moan that neither Sam nor Bucky paid any attention to.

_Trust me, this will be good for you in the long run,_ Bucky said.

Steve just groaned again.

 

At around noon, when Steve emerged from his shower (after a morning spent combing the help wanted section of the newspaper and a late-morning run) he was surprised to find Natasha sitting at the kitchen counter. In fact, he literally jumped.

“I, uh,” he said, and Natasha just looked at him with an unreadable expression.

He gestured at the door. “I wasn’t expecting--”

“Sam called me over. I have a key.”

She had an excellent poker face.

Steve swallowed. “Did… did Sam tell you… anything?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, then slowly unfolded herself off of the stool (good grief, Natasha walked the fine line between sexy and deadly) and slowly stalked up to him. She was a good head or two shorter than Steve, and yet he had the distinct feeling that she was looking down on him. She smiled, a tiny little curt thing, and patted him on the head. “He told me enough.” She tilted her head. “Why don’t you fill in the blanks?”

 

Telling Natasha went a lot easier than it had with Sam. Bucky wasn’t required to prove his presence, and Natasha mentioned she had an acquaintance who had similar experiences.

“You’re going to call her,” Natasha said in a tone that left no room for argument. “And she’s going to help you through this.”

Steve agreed, and found himself on the phone with a soft-spoken, kind woman named Wanda.

 

_(two months later)_

 

“I think you should take this one.”

Steve looked up from the paperwork for that day’s clients. “Pardon?”

Wanda smiled and looked down at the forms in Steve’s hands. “Vision is telling me you’d be better suited for this reading.” Vision was the name she’d given her Guide. Steve had seen him out of the corner of his eye a few times, but never gotten a good look at him. He’d never tried, really. It was a personal thing, a person’s relationship with their Guide.

Steve blinked. “Uh. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“You’ve picked up everything I’ve taught you, and you picked it up fast. You need to have more faith in yourself, Steve.” Wanda rose from her chair and drifted past him, patting his shoulder as she passed. “I’m going to grab lunch. Is Greek okay with you?”

“Wait!” He hurriedly tossed the papers onto the desk and scrambled to his feet. “No -- wait -- Wanda -- I have no idea what I’m doing--”

“That’s not true and you know it,” she answered, blowing him a kiss. “Tell Bucky not to let you down and you’ll do fine.”

_Not a chance of that happening,_ Bucky said, and Wanda heard it, judging by her grin.

“There you go.” She spun on her heel and disappeared with a flash of bouncing auburn curls.

Steve just stood in the middle of Wanda’s tiny office, dumbfounded. “Did… did she just leave me to fend for myself?” he demanded.

_To be honest, I might’ve had a chat with Vision about this._ Bucky didn’t project any remorse whatsoever.

Steve glared at him. “You dick.”

_Guide,_ Bucky reminded him. _I have to give you a kick in the ass when you need it. And you need it._

“Between you and Tasha and Sam, and now Wanda, I’m going to end up going gray before I turn thirty.” Steve sighed and pulled the schedule book towards him on the desk. He flipped to that day’s page. “Okay. Okay, one o’clock, Tuesday… Carol Danvers.” He looked up at Bucky, who shrugged.

_I can’t hand you all the answers on a silver platter, Stevie-boy. Use your talents, tell me your first impressions._

Steve made a face at him, then glanced down at the datebook again. He slowly traced a finger over Wanda’s elegant writing, and the first thing he got was a swooping sensation in his abdomen.

“She’s a pilot on an airplane. Fighter jet. Air force,” he said aloud.

Bucky didn’t say anything, so Steve kept feeling around.  
“Blonde,” he finally said. “Headstrong. Stubborn. She’s not coming here based on her own idea.”

_And here she is,_ Bucky said just as the door opened and the little bell at the top of the doorframe jingled.

Steve looked up at the blonde woman wearing a vintage bomber’s jacket, standing in the doorway. She had a look on her face that suggested massive discomfort, and after a moment, she sighed and stepped in, shutting the office door behind her. “Is Wanda in?”

Bucky was eyeing her appreciatively, and Steve ignored his Guide. “Uh, Wanda had to step out. She told me to take care of you.” He winced, realizing how awkwardly that had come out.

The woman -- Carol -- smirked. “Well, can’t object to some eyecandy while I wait.”

“Uh, she told me to. Um. Read for you.” Steve felt flustered, like he wasn’t getting enough air to his brain. His tongue felt fat in his mouth, and he tried to breathe through his nose.

Carol’s eyebrows went up. “You’re a psychic?”

“A little?” Steve tried, feeling more and more foolish as he just stood there.

Carol looked him over and tilted her head. “You don’t look like a psychic.”

“I get that a lot,” Steve muttered.

Carol snorted. “Well, one of my best friends swears by this Wanda, so if she thinks you’re good enough to take her place, what the hell.” She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the coat-stand by the door.

_Show the lady in,_ Bucky reminded him.

“Uh. Yeah. Right. This way?” Steve gestured for her to follow him into the private session room.

Carol’s eyebrows climbed even higher -- which Steve hadn’t thought possible -- when she took in the simple setup, consisting of two comfortable leather chairs, a small coffee table along the side, and shelves on the walls that held various books, candles, and crystals (Wanda liked to collect crystals from around the world.) Most of the candles were lit, and the room smelled warm and cheery.

“Not what you were expecting, huh?” Steve asked, taking Wanda’s customary seat.

Carol mutely shook her head as she sank into the other chair. She took a moment to compose herself, crossing one leg over the other, and Bucky whistled in Steve’s mental ear.

Behave, Steve thought furiously at him, and Bucky chuckled.

“What?” Carol looked at him curiously. “What did I do?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not you. I have a hanger-on who used to be a ladies man during life.”

Carol’s eyebrows went back up again and she nodded slowly. Her expression would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that Steve was 90% positive that she thought him -- what was the term Clint used? -- “absolute crazypants ‘nanners”.

“It’s just.” Steve rubbed his forehead. “I have a spirit guide. He started talking to me in person after I had a near-death experience while deployed in Afghanistan.”

“You’re armed forces?” Carol asked, her eyes widening.

“Army. Discharged.”

“I’m in the Air Force,” Carol grinned, a real, friendly grin. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Steve blushed.

“What was your rank?”

“I made it to Captain,” Steve answered. He must have been oozing melancholy, because Carol quickly changed tack.

“Wow, nice! I’m a Colonel, myself. Hey, I outrank you!” She grinned, and Bucky whistled again.

“You’ve managed to impress Bucky Barnes,” Steve told her.

“Hah!” Carol chortled, settling into an easy slouch. “You mean he’s looking past my fantastic tits and admiring my personality?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Steve said, smiling back at her.

_Oh, you charmer, you,_ Bucky said. _Also, it looks like someone wants to pass something onto her. Might want to start the session._

“Right. So. Bucky’s telling me there’s someone with a message for you?”

Carol tilted her head, a small crease forming on her forehead. “That’s actually not why I came here, but okay, what is it?”

Bucky backed off, leaving Steve to feel around. “Who’s ‘Marvel’?”

Carol’s eyes widened again.

“Mar-vehl? Mar-vell? Like, it sounds like ‘Marvel’ but I get the feeling it’s not…” Steve watched Carol, ready to pull off the subject if she closed up again.

Carol’s mouth had fallen open. She shut it self-consciously and shook her head. “Uh, it’s nothing.”

Bucky shook his head out of the corner of Steve’s vision, and Steve pressed on. “No, that’s not true. You called him Mar-vell, and he was your friend, and he’s still here.”

“He was just an imaginary friend. Kids have those,” Carol said quietly.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Bucky was mine.”

Carol looked at him, dumbfounded. “So… does that mean…”

“Mar-vell says he’s proud of you, he watched you grow up and he’s truly proud of how you turned out. He wishes he could take the place of your father, but he’ll settle for what he is now.”

A tear tumbled down Carol’s cheek and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “Is he my guide? Like you have?”

There was a very strong feeling of affirmation, which made the right side of Steve’s head tickle like static cling. “Yeah, he’s your Guide. He never left your side, you just stopped being able to see him.”

“Oh God,” Carol wiped her eyes. “Oh, wow. Um. I’m sorry, I don’t usually start crying randomly--” She buried her face in her hands and Steve let her breathe for a moment.

After she managed to get her crying under control, she shook her head and sent her blonde hair flying, cleared her throat, and looked back up at him. Her eyes were still red, but she managed to steady herself. Steve was impressed. “Is there anything else? From Mar-vell?”

“He says that someone named Helen Cobb wants to tell you something.”

Carol jerked in shock, then gripped the arms of her chair. “What did she say?” Her voice came out in a whisper.

“The plane she left you? She wants you to break her record with it.” Steve leaned forward. “Mar-vell said, specifically, to tell you to ‘punch holes in the sky’.”

Carol nodded, looking like she was once more fighting tears. “That’s a promise, tell them that.”

“I don’t need to.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Carol cleared her throat again. “Wow. I guess you are legit, huh?”

Steve chuckled. “A little bit.”

“I gotta say, when Jess told me what she got, I thought she was exaggerating how amazing it would end up being.” Carol smiled faintly. “I guess this is that sign I needed, huh?”

Steve felt his brows come together. “What sign?”

Carol sighed and leaned forward, shifting her hair over one shoulder. “Well, you see…” She considered her hands, folded in front of her. “I think my apartment is haunted.”

Steve sat back and the leather creaked a bit. “Haunted,” he repeated.

_Haunted,_ Bucky echoed.

_Thank you, Sergeant Obvious._

_Anytime, Captain America._

Steve massaged the bridge of his nose and met Carol’s gaze again. “Okay, I’m not saying I don’t believe you, this is just the first haunting I’ve run into since I moved into my friend’s apartment. Tell me what’s been going on?”

“Weeeeelllllllll,” Carol bit at a hangnail, and Steve got a sense of urgency and fear. Since he’d started working with Wanda, he’d discovered he had a heightened sense of empathy -- he literally could sense other people’s emotions and moods. Right then, all he was getting from Carol was frustrated fear: the kind of fear someone felt when they were up against something that could hurt them, yet they couldn’t fight it.

“It started after my brother died,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think it’s him.”

He felt Mar-vell bump up against his mind again, and sensed a very strong _no_. “You’re right; Mar-vell says it’s not him.”

Carol visibly relaxed. “Well, if that’s the case, I have no idea who this fucker is.” She clenched both of her hands into fists, and underneath all of the anger and unease was a bone-deep weariness. “When I’m alone in my apartment, the temperature will randomly drop. And I mean, drop a ton. Like, last week I woke up in the middle of the day and I could see my own breath.”

Yikes. Whoever this ghost -- or even nonhuman entity -- was, it was powerful. Sucking up heat energy took a lot from a ghost.

“And I never feel like I’m actually alone when I’m home. My cat would always freak out and hide whenever I got those creepy feelings. Then, there’s the knocking. It’s Morse code. And sometimes the Morse comes in English, but most of the time it’s in Latin. I had a friend translate, and all I get is ‘I am here’. In English, it’s stuff like ‘you seem tired today’ and ‘I don’t like your friend’ and other generally dickish-creepy stuff.” Carol’s unease was starting to build again. “But the cherry on top of this shit sundae was the night I woke up from a nightmare… don’t even ask me about it--” she added when Steve opened his mouth to ask for details. “I woke up, and I was already kind of freaked out, and then I realized that… that this black shadow-figure was leaning over me, like, its head was right next to mine.”

Steve had a very bad feeling about where everything was headed.

“I froze and it disappeared, and then I packed up my bags and my cat, and I left. I haven’t been back in over a week, been living at my friend Jessica’s place. She kept recommending Wanda, so here I am.”

Steve thought for a moment, then said aloud, “Bucky, I would really appreciate some input right now.”

_This is bad,_ Bucky said, a bit unnecessarily. _Really bad. You need to take care of this, or else this thing is going to do some serious damage to her. It’s not limited to her apartment, but really a certain object that she brought into it. It’s only a coincidence that her brother died around that time._

“Did you bring something into your apartment around the time your brother passed away? Bucky’s telling me that’s the source.”

Carol’s forehead crinkled as she thought about it. “Actually, yeah, I did. An artifact - a ceremonial dagger that I picked up while I was stationed overseas. Oh my God, that’s where it came from?!”

Steve stood and waited while Carol did the same. He began to round the room, blowing out candles. “We need to go to your apartment today. The faster we get rid of it, the better off you’ll be.”

Carol was the last appointment for a few hours, and Wanda had a key. Carol and Steve grabbed their jackets and hurried outside, stalling for a second as Steve flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and locked the door to the office. He nodded towards the street. “My bike’s over here, did you walk?”

“Yeah. You got a spare helmet?”

Steve tossed his spare to her and started up the bike. “Okay, give me your address. Let’s go nip this in the bud.”

Carol wrapped her arms around his waist. “Sure thing, Captain Ghostbuster.”

 

As Carol was unlocking the door to her place, Steve was hit with an overwhelming surge of negative energy.

_Whatever this fucker is, it’s strong. And not human,_ Bucky warned him. _This won’t be fun or easy._

_Thanks for the heads-up,_ Steve answered, and Carol got the door open. They both froze and then reeled back as a terrible, rotten stench overtook them.

“Oh, my God, it smells like something _died_ in here!” Carol gasped, covering her mouth.

“It’s just trying to scare us,” Steve answered, bringing a sleeve up to cover his nose.

“It’s working,” Carol said shrilly. “Are we going to get slimed next? Because I’m _outta_ here for  good if we are!”

“Carol, you can’t show it fear. It feeds on fear.” With that, Steve shouldered his way into the apartment. It felt like he was wading through molasses.

The minute Carol stepped in after him, the door slammed shut. Carol jumped and whirled around, tensed for a fight. An inhuman laugh rang through the empty apartment and something started knocking in the walls.

“‘I don’t like your friend’.” Carol translated.

“I got that,” Steve replied. “On both ends. And the feeling’s mutual, pal!” He addressed the latter part of his statement to the apartment at large.

The laughter started up again.

“Okay, Carol, we need to find the trigger object. _Now._ ”

“It’s in my den,” Carol said, re-covering her mouth. The stench of rotting flesh had intensified.

They started making their way through the living room-slash-kitchenette, and then Bucky yelled something and Steve felt some sharp, biting force building. He chanced a look back, and there was the shadow-figure, right there in the middle of the room. In the blink of an eye, it was rushing at him. Steve threw his hands up in a defensive posture, and there was a bright flash. The shadow flew apart like he’d shattered it as the light faded.

_Good one, Steve. Keep your shield up, the thing isn’t gone yet. It’s just surprised._ Bucky was at his side, and Steve sensed the presence of a weapon… a sniper rifle.

_You gonna fight it?_ Steve asked, surprised. He’d never seen Bucky with a weapon.

_If I have to. It’ll wear me out, though, so I don’t want it to come to that._

“Knife,” Carol said shakily, backing through a doorway. Steve was about to turn and join her when she shrieked in anger. “It’s gone! The fucker hid it!”

_It knew you were onto it,_ Bucky said.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Steve muttered. “Find it!” he called to Carol, who was already tearing her office apart. He looked around the sitting room. “Help me out here, Buck,” he said aloud.

_I’m helping! I’m discouraging it from bumrushing you again!_

“Okay, does it seem to be protective of any specific area?” Steve looked to his left when he caught movement in his peripheral, and then a door slammed shut. “Carol!” he yelled.

She came back out, looking skittish. “It’s not in there. I checked everywhere I could. It’s not in my den!”

“Carol, what’s that room?” Steve pointed.

She followed his line of sight. “That… that’s my bedroom--”

He was in front of the door in two strides. He tried the door, but it was locked. “Goddammit,” he swore, and then drove his shoulder into it. It bounced back at him, but didn’t budge. “You bastard, let me in!” he yelled, and the creepy laughter sounded from behind the door.

Suddenly, Mar-vell was pressing up against his mind again. _I’ll take care of it, Captain._ The energy disappeared into the bedroom, and an inhuman scream rang out. Carol yelped, and Steve tried the knob again. This time, it turned in his hand. He shoved the door open and both of them hurried in before something could shut it again. Carol gasped and pointed up at the ceiling, where an oily black mass was forming like a malevolent puddle. A bright spear of light -- Mar-vell -- pierced it, and another scream manifested.

_Destroy it,_ Bucky and Mar-vell yelled in unison.

“Where is it?” Steve demanded, and Carol ran to her messy bed and tossed aside the pillow that looked more slept-on.

“You fucking asshole,” she growled at the oily cloud on the ceiling. She wasn’t afraid anymore. “This is over!” She tossed what looked like a stoneware dagger at Steve, who was waiting by the door to the balcony. She dashed over to join him as he raised it over his head and lobbed with all of his strength at the ground two stories below.

The resounding crash was only eclipsed by the screaming from the black mass on the ceiling. It bunched up, like it was gathering itself up, and then launched itself at Carol as she was headed back in. Steve was in front of her before his brain caught up with his legs, and he threw out a hand again. The mass slammed into something that felt like it was a part of him, and he felt the vibrations in his bones.

“ _No!_ ” he growled. “You’re done here. Time to get out, go back to wherever you came from.”

And then, in the middle of the floor, a vortex formed. The black mass shrieked again, but it was getting dragged down by the unseen, unfelt winds. Like water going down a drain, it was sucked into the vortex with one final screech. Then, suddenly, it was utterly silent.

They stayed where they were, breathing heavily, and then Carol let out a hoarse laugh. “Holy _shit_ ,” she said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “That was _intense_.”

Steve shook his head, grinning back at her. “You’re telling me.”

“Seriously, holy shit, wow.” She was laughing openly now. “Oh my god, everything feels so much lighter!”

And indeed, the entire apartment felt open and airy, like gravity had decreased. The smell of decomposition was gone, and Carol even did a little twirl that sent her hair fanning out like a cape as she ran out into the open area. “Oh, wow, this is awesome!” She giggled, giddy, then launched herself at Steve as he followed her out. “You are a godsend, oh my god. Thank you _so much_!” She hugged him tightly and even kissed him with a _smack_ on the cheek. “I am going to owe you so hard, man. How much do you charge?”

Steve laughed. “No charge, this was an emergency.”

“Hah!” Carol snorted. “Bullshit. You did me a service, and you’re gonna get paid for it. We pay our firefighters and EMT’s for emergency work. You’re walking away from this a bit richer or else!”

_Might not wanna fight this girl,_ Stevie, Bucky said, amused. Mar-vell projected a similar sentiment.

Steve made a face, and Carol made another back at him.

It wasn’t long before they were both laughing again.

 

 


	3. (all my sins) I said that I would pay for them

Tony looked down at his phone and checked the address again. Nope, this was the place.

“Boss?” Happy had gotten out of the car, but the sidewalk boasted a NO PARKING sign about four feet away. Still, his bodyguard and chauffeur was eyeing the building with an expression that mirrored Tony’s feelings. “Boss, you sure about this?”

Tony sighed. “Pretty damn, Happy.”

“I mean, Carol _has_ pranked you pretty good before,” Happy pointed out. “And Jess isn’t above pulling your leg either.”

“They both swear by this guy, Hap. Carol swore on her plane. She doesn’t just do that for some schmuck off the street.” Tony pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and set his jaw. “Go find a place to park and hang out in a café. I’ll call you when I need to go.”

“You’re sure about this, Boss?”

Tony nodded. He waited as Happy got back into the most low-key sedan that Tony owned and drove off for a secure parking garage, then glanced back up at the hand-painted sign over the door.

_Wanda Maximoff, Spiritual Counselor,_ it read. Beneath that, in smaller font: _Steve Rogers, paranormal investigator._

Tony fought down a shudder - he hoped to god that none of his peers from the _respectable_ scientific community saw him (Reed and Hank especially) - and pulled the door open, prompting a little chime. He stepped into the atrium of the office and looked around.

There was a secretary’s desk right in front of him, and the wall to his left was lined with chairs and a coffee table covered in magazines. Behind the desk were two doors; one door was shut with a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on it, while the other was slightly ajar. It looked like it opened to a utilitarian office.

Tony looked back over his shoulder, but no one was around. The room was slightly chilly, even though it was well into October. He decided not to remove his jacket and instead stepped up to the desk and rang the little bell set on the corner.

He heard rustling, and then the office door opened and a redheaded woman strode out. “Can I help you?” she asked coolly, and Tony noticed she was wiping her hands on a napkin.

Tony winced. “I need to talk to the ghostbuster?”

She raised one thin eyebrow at him. “Steve Rogers?” she prompted him, and Tony got the distinct impression that she’d already done a cursory once-over and found him lacking.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

“All right then,” she said, sitting down at the desk and handing him a clipboard. “Fill this out first, as much as you can.” She tossed a pen to him and gestured to the chairs along the wall.

Tony looked the form over and made a face. “What, really?”

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked, sounding slightly bored.

“No.”

“Then yes, really. Fill it out.” She pulled a binder out of a drawer and as he watched, she flipped it open, grabbed a pencil and wrote “walk-in consultation” on the open space for the hour, and shut it. She then glared at him. “Well?”

Tony shook his head and sank into the nearest chair to start filling out the damn form.

The woman made a grumbling noise and stowed the binder back in its drawer. She stood up and strode back to the office, sticking her head in and having a hushed conversation with its occupant - the renowned Steve Rogers himself, probably. Tony made a face and scribbled his info down (all basic contact info, how did he hear about this service, nature of the consultation) as the redhead came back into the atrium and sat back down at the desk. She pulled a laptop out of one of the locked drawers and flipped it open. Tony was almost disgusted to see that it was an old Macbook from at least five years ago. He made a mental note to Rickroll Carol later for this. Not only was he making an appointment to see a ghost hunter, they were working with insultingly outdated equipment.

At the desk, the redhead chafed her hands. “Jesus,” she muttered, and scooted her chair back to fiddle with the thermostat.

Well. Nice to know he wasn’t the only human in the room.

Tony finally finished filling out the paper and stood. He handed the clipboard, form, and pen back to the redhead - she didn’t even look at him, she was so intent on focusing on her laptop and ignoring him - and waited.

The redhead got up and disappeared into the office again, taking the clipboard with her. Tony was left standing by her desk for a few minutes, which gave him the chance to glance at the laptop. The redhead had an HTML coder up and was working on a website.

He heard footsteps and looked up as the redhead came back into the atrium. She settled back behind her desk and pulled the laptop back over to her. “Just go back in,” she told him. “He’s waiting.”

Tony raised his eyebrows and made a noncommittal noise as he passed back into the tiny hallway. He heard muffled noises behind the closed door and what sounded like crying, and he almost stopped, but the office door opened all the way.

The man standing in the doorway was terrifyingly good-looking, all tall and muscled and blond and blue-eyed and clean-cut and wholesome. He didn’t _look_ like a hippy ghostbuster psychic.

“Tony Stark?” Rogers asked, holding out a hand.

Tony took it and gave it a firm shake. “Uh. Yeah. You’re Captain Ghostbuster?”

Rogers made a face. “Carol really did send you.”

“Yep.”

Rogers stepped back and gestured to the interior of the office. “Come on in.”

Tony did so and looked around, impressed against his will. Rogers’s office was clean and well-lit, with a window that let in natural light, polished wood furnishing (which was well-maintained, even though it was mid-quality and probably secondhand), and an entire wall covered in photos. They were mostly of people in uniform, and Carol had already warned him to not bring up Rogers’s stint in the Army, so Tony tore his eyes away to what was most likely a memorial to the dead and slowly pulled one of the visitor chairs away from the desk.

Rogers took his seat behind the desk and leaned back, drumming his fingers on the wood. “So.”

“So.” Tony echoed.

“Your description of your problem was kind of vague. You willing to talk to me about it? Because I know you’ve probably heard this before, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Tony winced. “This is embarrassing.”

“I bet it is,” Rogers answered evenly. “But it must be serious enough that you came looking for help, and I try to do as much as I can for my clients.”

Tony cleared his throat, and fiddled with his jacket. “Well, as you might have guessed, I have a ghost problem.”

“It’s not the old man in the butler suit,” Rogers interrupted. “But he wants you to know he’s here.”

Tony felt his blood turn to ice. “What?”

Rogers frowned. “Jarvis. He’s your Guide, he says he used to play with you and keep you company when you were a kid.”

Against his will, he found himself scooting away from Rogers and his desk. “How d’you know that?” he demanded. He hadn’t thought of Jarvis in decades.

“He’s talking to me, telling me to go easy on you. I won’t bring him up again if it makes you uncomfortable.” Rogers was still looking at him with a steady expression; he probably did this kind of thing every day.

Tony considered it, then shook his head. “I need all hands on deck, I think.”

“Well, Jarvis is being kind of tight-lipped about it, says it’s your business, so.” Rogers nodded. “Tell me about it.”

“Um. So. Yeah.” Tony looked around the room again, and tried to breathe. “So I went back to my childhood home. Stark Mansion, down by Central Park.”

“I know the place,” Rogers gestured for him to continue.

“Yeah. Haven’t been there in a few years. Possibly a decade. I’ve been out in California, and some stuff happened out there and I decided I needed to take a break from the West Coast, so I came back home and I haven’t been here since my parents died.”

Rogers nodded, a soft “ah” escaping from him. “I can see where this is going.”

“Yeah, probably. First night home and I’m having trouble sleeping, I’m an insomniac, so I’m puttering around this giant empty house and all the sudden I hear my dad, who’s been dead, like, well over fifteen years, call my name.”

Rogers listened silently, which made Tony feel a little better because he was feeling flustered; the panic he’d felt that night was coming back in full swing.

“I chalked it up to an overactive imagination, but I don’t think I believed it,” Tony admitted. “And good ol’ Dad didn’t either, because he appeared right behind me in a mirror and told me to figure it out, and that was when I freaked out and ran for it.”

Rogers leaned forward. “Where are you staying now?”

“With my friend.” Rhodey had been a bit surprised to find Tony at his door, completely sober and still panicking, but he’d let him in all the same. Rhodey was a saint.

“Has your father appeared to you since you left the Mansion?” Rogers asked, and he was scribbling notes on the legal pad next to the (ugh) Macbook.

“No, but.” Tony swallowed. “I went back the next day when the sun was up, and he popped up again. Rhodey saw him too.”

Rogers looked up with his eyebrows raised. “Wow. Whatever it is, it must be important.”

Tony blinked. “Excuse me?”

“People don’t usually stick around on Earth after they die. They usually go on almost instantly, unless they have some serious unfinished business with the living.” Rogers tapped his pencil on the pad, and looked questioningly over Tony’s shoulder. “Jarvis can’t seem to talk to him, so he’s clueless.”

It was starting to get weird, his doing that. “Oh. Okay then.”

Rogers actually winced. “Sorry, I tend to carry on two or three conversations at once, and not everyone is privy to them all.”

“That’s vaguely creepy,” Tony commented matter-of-factly.

“I know. It’s a bad habit I gotta work on.” Rogers smiled sheepishly, and Tony felt something in him soften a bit at that smile.

“Just… let a guy get used to it, will you?” he fumbled, shifting in his chair.

Rogers suddenly colored, a brilliant scarlet blush that reached all the way to his ears. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said aloud, and by now Tony knew he wasn’t talking to Tony.

“Who…?”

“My Guide. Bucky. He’s like those little robots from that show where they watch bad movies?”

“Mystery Science Theater.”

Rogers nodded. “Yeah. Him. He riffs over my shoulder and really ought to _stop doing that right now,_ during this _very serious consultation._ ” His voice took on a vaguely sing-song tone and Tony got the impression that he was having an interesting, snark-filled argument with a ghost. This guy had to be a riot at parties.

“I would think Jarvis being disapproving would be enough to shut him up,” Tony said conversationally.

Rogers shook his head. “Nothing shuts Bucky up. He’ll yammer through Mass if he’s got a mind to.” He aimed a glare off to a seemingly empty corner of the office, and Tony felt shivers go up and down his arm when he heard a far-off, echoing laugh.

“Quit scaring him, Buck.”

“Oh, I’m not scared,” Tony interjected. “I’m just having my worldview shaken, is all.”

“How’re you handling?” And wasn’t that the damndest thing, but Rogers actually sounded concerned. Legit concerned.

Tony shrugged. “About as well as could be expected. I’m a man of science and all.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. “Ah.” He nodded slowly. “I see.”

They had a staring contest, and Tony broke first. “What?” he demanded.

“From what I understand, your doctorates are mostly engineering and programming,” Rogers answered.

Tony huffed. “Yeah. Well. One of my buddies is a biologist.”

Rogers snorted. “Nice save.”

Tony smirked against his will. “So,” he said, getting back on subject. “You think you can help me?”

Rogers shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I’ve got a job coming up later this week that I need to take care of, and then I’ll be able to start the baseline on the Mansion on the weekend. I’ll let my team know - I usually take a couple of friends with me to record evidence,” he explained, and Tony’s eyebrows went up of their own accord. Maybe this wasn’t so bad in the science department.

“So, yeah, I’ll need either a key or someone to let us in for the night. We’d also appreciate if you could shut off anything that might project interference electronics-wise…”

“I’m coming with you,” Tony interrupted. “So that solves the problem of letting you in and out.”

Rogers blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I have rule about not involving clients in the investigation. It’s for your own safety.”

Tony shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. This is my _father_. He has a message for _me._ And he only shows up when I’m in the house - my bodyguard didn’t notice anything, and neither did my PA when she went in to grab clothes for me.” He didn’t add that he’d pretty much refused to step foot in the Mansion since that day with Rhodey - so had Rhodey, for that matter, so he wasn’t _completely_ ashamed.

“I can’t assure your safety,” Rogers insisted. “And that’s more important than anything else. The main reason I take on ghostbusting jobs is to keep my clients safe.”

“I won’t get in the way,” Tony argued. “And I’ll follow directions. If you know me, you know that’s a big deal. But I’m not sitting this out.”

Rogers’s eyebrows came together in an _adorable_ wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth, probably to object, but then snapped it shut and glanced back at the corner where he said his guide was.

Tony waited as Rogers (presumably) argued silently with the ghost, and Rogers did this head-tilt that made him look like a fucking Labrador Retriever.

“I’m thinking you’re getting some more input?” Tony raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t crowing in victory. Yet.

“Everyone in the peanut gallery is saying to let you come along,” Rogers finally said.

“How many spirit guides do you _have_?”

“Just Bucky. But this building has a lot of bodily-challenged residents.” Rogers rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

Tony felt goosepimples climb up and down his neck. “Jeezus, how many ghosts do you run into in a day?”

“Hundreds,” Rogers answered in a tired voice. “And they all crowd me when they see me. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“So why do this job?” Tony asked, confused. “If you hate it, that is.”

“I don’t hate it.” Rogers shrugged. “But it has its downsides.”

Tony made a face. “I can imagine.”

“I’m sure you can.”

They both got to their feet and shook hands. “I’ll call you to iron out the details,” Rogers assured him. “And I can’t promise anything dramatic, but I have a ninety-seven percent success rate.”

Tony frowned. “What about the other three percent?”

Rogers slumped his shoulders. “Some causes are lost before they even start.”

Tony hoped - fervently - that his wasn’t going to end up one of those.

 

Happy drove back to Rhodey’s apartment and followed Tony into the elevator. They had the box to themselves, so the professional facade that Tony’s bodyguard and friend usually kept up in public dropped.

“You seriously thinking about calling the friggin’ _Ghostbusters_?” Happy demanded. “And don’t try to ignore me now, even _your_ phone doesn’t work in this elevator.”

Tony sighed. “Happy,” he whined. “I gotta clear out the Mansion, and conventional means won’t work here.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Happy muttered.

“Believe it,” Tony told him. “Carol and Jess both vouched for this guy. He’s not a total crackpot. He even follows a scientific procedure. He’s got recording equipment to study the phenomena.”

“And yet. The guy. Hunts. _Ghosts._ ”

“I know what I saw,” Tony insisted. “My dad is dead and buried, and yet I’ve seen him twice, once in broad daylight. Happy, this isn’t a SyFy movie. This is reality.”

“Or it’s a sick joke!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ve already disproved that.”

“Yeah, but you’re only the third-smartest guy in the country.”

“You seriously think Reed or Victor Von Doom is trying to pull a prank on me?” Tony snorted.

Happy made a face. “Anything’s possible, boss.”

“Including ghosts.”

Happy didn’t smack his head into the elevator wall, but only _barely_.

The doors dinged open, and Happy took the lead out into the hallway. He escorted Tony up to Rhodey’s door, and Tony unlocked it.

“Rhoooooodey?” he called, poking his head in. There was a shuffling noise in the next room, but the figure who appeared in the doorway to the living room was decidedly not Jim Rhodes.

“You went to a _psychic_?” Virginia - Pepper - Potts-Hogan demanded as she stalked over to him. Even without her four-inch heels, she still managed to tower over him. “You went to a **_psychic_**?? Do you have any idea what the tabloids will do if they catch wind of this? And thanks for leaving me to cover for you at the board meeting, by the way.”

“Did you tell them it was a life coach?” Tony tried to joke.

Pepper’s glare could melt steel. “Therapist.”

“Aw, Pepper, that sounds so _serious_.”

Pepper raised her hands like she wanted to grab Tony’s head and shake it (or crush it) and Tony scurried back until his ass hit the wall. “Pep! Pep-Pep-Pep! Come on! I’m out of options here!”

“Out of options? Have you considered seeing an _actual_ therapist??”

“Pep, you’ve been talking to Rhodey. Haven’t you? He saw my dad--” Tony turned his head, yelled down the short hallway into the living room. “RHODEY! TELL PEPPER YOU SAW HIM!”

Rhodey sighed loudly in the next room. “I don’t know what I saw, Tony. I’m sorry.”

Tony thumped his head against the wall behind him. “Thanks for the save, Jimbo.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Besides, Carol vouches for this guy. Says he got a demon out of her apartment a few years back.” Tony fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He tossed it to Pepper, who caught it without dropping her glare. “Ask her! She _swore on her plane._ ”

Pepper’s pencil-thin eyebrows went up, and she unlocked his phone with ease (there were only three people other than Tony who could, and they were all in the same apartment right then) and scrolled through his contacts. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered as she punched Carol’s icon in the phonebook. “I don’t get paid enough for this. Hi, darling,” she added over Tony’s shoulder at Happy, who was leaning against the shut door with a smug look on his face.

Tony stuck his tongue out at his bodyguard, who only snorted back at him.

“Hi, Carol?” Pepper put on the fake-cheerful voice she always got when she got on the phone. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just needed to ask you a quick question. Did you tell Tony to go visit a psychic in order to--” she stopped. “Oh.” Her green eyes flickered up to meet Tony’s. “Oh.” She listened some more, her eyebrows migrating straight up under her bangs. “ _Oh_. Well. I see.” She nodded slowly, her eyes wide. “Well. That clears it up, I guess. Thanks. Have a nice day.”

Tony crossed his arms as she hung up and stared at the phone, which had already gone to sleep in her hand. “Well?” he challenged her.

“She did indeed swear on her plane. The one from Helen Cobb.” Pepper ran her hands through her bangs, mussing her perfectly smooth hairstyle. “I… didn’t think Carol believed in ghosts.”

“This guy, he’s something else,” Tony said quickly. “I mean, half the time during the meeting, he was arguing with a ghost in the corner. It was kind of hilarious. And the thing laughed, right out of thin air. It was creepy. But kind of cool. In an inexplicable kind of way.”

Pepper closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I feel about any of this.” She tossed Tony’s phone back to him.

“Can I come in now?” Tony said slowly.

“Pizza’s getting cold,” Rhodey called.

“Ooh, pizza.” Tony scuttled past Pepper, who sank into Happy’s embrace without moving. He could hear Happy murmuring indistinctly in her ear, and had to snort. Rhodey had often joked they should form a support group for “people who have been personally victimized by Tony Stark”, and he had a sneaking suspicion that they in fact had done so.

Rhodey didn’t even get up from the couch he was perched on, and Tony blinked when he saw Bruce on the loveseat, munching on the veggie-lover’s. “Brucie!” Tony crooned, swooping to his side. “How did they manage to get you out of your cave?”

Bruce shrugged as he swallowed. “Pizza.” He scrubbed his stubbly face with a paper napkin and smiled ruefully. “Betty’s out of town, and Pepper didn’t think another Chinese takeout meal alone would be good for me.”

“Pepper is a saint,” Rhodey commented, and Tony rolled his eyes at the pointed expression his best friend levelled at him. “So you went and talked to the psychic?”

“He calls himself a paranormal investigator,” Tony shot back at him, snagging a piece of the deluxe and plopping himself down next to Bruce. “And yes, I met with him. Pretty down-to-earth, and he’s even going about it methodically. He’s got a research-based procedure and everything. I got a look at his packing list. EMF-detector, white-noise generator, and a bunch of night-vision cameras.”

Bruce bit his lip. “You know, I hear ghosts show up on infared. I have an old FLIR camera from when I was doing that study back in college. We could mod it up for you to take with you.”

“Bruce, buddy, don’t enable him,” Rhodey groused.

“This is interesting,” Bruce protested. “Imagine what possibilities this could open up.”

Tony, too busy chewing on his slice of pizza, nodded empathetically, widening his eyes as much as he could.

Rhodey rolled his eyes as Pepper and Happy came into the room. Pepper sat demurely on the ottoman and Happy took the easy chair, grabbing at the meat lover’s pizza.

“This is nice,” Tony decided, nodding. “I like it. I don’t think I ever wanna leave.”

Rhodey moaned. “No. Nope, no. Stop that thought right now. You are _not_ permanently moving in.”

“Aw, Babybunch, you wound me.”

Bruce snorted to his right.

“What, you want him to move in with you and Betty?” Rhodey grumbled at Bruce.

Bruce fell silent and gave Rhodey a stony look. “Not even funny.”

“C’mon, guys. I’m just kidding; once Captain Ghostbuster has at the Mansion, I’ll move back in there.” Tony waved his crust at Rhodey, who made a face at the crumbs. “Oh, quit whining. You have a Roomba.”

“The thing’s demented.”

“It’s _modified_ and _special_.”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do if he ends up having kids,” Happy muttered to Pepper, who gave a most unladylike snort in response.

Tony got the last laugh when the Roomba just about ate Rhodey’s sock, though.

 

He was back in the Mansion.

That was odd… he didn’t remember coming here…

He stumbled down the plushly carpeted hallway and had to leap for the doorknob to the den.

An arm reached out overhead and turned the handle for him. He looked up into Jarvis’s smiling face.

“ _Good to see you at home again, Master Anthony._ ”

Tony didn’t answer. He merely looked up at his old imaginary friend.

The door slammed all the way open and there stood his father, looking coldly sober and in a towering rage.

“ _You haven’t found it yet!_ ” Howard shouted. “ _Stupid, dimwitted, easily-distracted brat!_ ”

“ _I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for!_ ” Tony finally protested, but it felt like his mouth was full of sand. It came out too high-pitched and thin-sounding, like the voice of a child close to tears.

“ _You aren’t some moron kid!_ ” Howard roared at him, and Tony found himself scurrying behind Jarvis, who stood solidly between him and his father. “ _You’re Tony-fucking-Stark, heir to StarkIndustries! Genius! Billionaire! Industrialist! And you are r **unning out of time!**_ ”

“ _I think it is time for you to wake up now, Master Tony,_ ” Jarvis said soothingly.

Tony turned on his heel and ran for the front door, which sprang open at his touch. The sunlight outside was blinding…

 

Tony sat up on the futon and gasped for breath, trying to quell his racing heart. He was panting like he’d run a marathon.

“Jesus!” Rhodey said, nearly falling onto his ass. “Tony, Tones, c’mon, you gotta calm down.”

Tony flopped back onto his pillow and breathed. He couldn’t get words together, not yet. He put a shaking hand on his chest, over the scar on his breastbone.

“Do you need--” Rhodey gestured vaguely, looking ready to dive for the medical kit.

Tony waved him off and swallowed. “Just gotta calm my heart.”

Rhodey sat back on his heels. He was still in his pajama pants and MIT shirt, and the room was still dark. Tony must have woken him up.

“You were making noises in your sleep, man. Talking out loud,” Rhodey confirmed. “Loud, too.”

Tony glanced at him, and Rhodey looked really, _really_ concerned. “I’m fine, Jim.”

“Okay, now I’m _really_ worried.”

Tony grinded his palm into one eye socket. “Just a nightmare. My old man was in it.”

Rhodey sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Yikes. Did it have anything to do with the haunting thing?”

“He kept yelling at me to find something. Called me an idiot. Yelled some more.” Tony stared at the ceiling. “So, basically, what he did while he was still alive and kicking.”

Rhodey didn’t respond.

Tony groaned. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning.”

Oh, wonderful.

Tony rolled onto his side and buried his face in his pillow. “Go back to bed, buddy. I’m done with night terrors for a while.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He paused when he got to the door and looked back at Tony. “There was… a white mist-figure standing over you,” he said slowly. “It looked like an old man wearing a butler suit.”

Tony closed his eyes. “He’s one of the good ones,” he finally said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Rhodey made a strange, strangled noise. “Good grief,” he muttered as he shut the door to his den behind him.

Tony shivered, despite the truly amazing quilt Rhodey’s mother had put together. _Thanks, Jarvis,_ he finally thought, curling into the smallest ball that he could manage.

 

A hard-case suddenly appeared on the desk in front of him, and Tony blinked in surprise. “Uh…” he looked up to meet Bruce’s mischievous eyes.

“My old FLIR camera,” Bruce said, grinning. “What do you say, you want to stick around R&D after you’re done running your company tonight?”

Tony grinned back at him. “Oh, _hell_ yes. After the night I had, I need some good old-fashioned real-world Earth science.”

Bruce blinked. “I don’t wanna know.” He patted the case and spun on his heel to duck out the door of Tony’s office. There was a muffled exclamation, and then Obadiah Stane stepped through the door, glancing behind him in confusion.

Tony quickly stowed Bruce’s case under his desk and ran a hand through his (already) messy hair. “Obie,” he said evenly. “What brings you to this end of the building?”

Obie looked back at him and smiled slowly. “Tony, my boy.” He shut the office door behind him, and Tony blanched inwardly. Never a good sign.

“So, what’s this I hear about you seeing a therapist?” Obie asked, sinking into the visitors’ chairs and leaning back.

“What, do I have to clear everything with you now?” Tony couldn’t help getting defensive. He edged the hard-case with the FLIR camera further under his desk with one foot. “Besides, he’s just a life coach. No big deal.”

“Life coach?” Obie pressed, raising an eyebrow. “What are you seeing a life coach for?”

“For… reasons,” Tony answered evasively. “It’s been… it’s been a tough year. I kind of need someone I can go to for help. Professional. You know.”

Obie laughed. “Oh, I know. I just didn’t think you’d end up like the rest of the yuppies in Manhattan, with weekly shrink visits and all that shit.”

Tony winced. “It’s not like that. I just need… inspiration. To set goals. Solve problems. Lateral thinking. That sort of thing.”

Obie’s eyebrows both went up. He nodded slowly. “Right. Lateral thinking. Well, if you think it’s really necessary…”

“Last I checked, I’ve been an adult for nearly a decade,” Tony said firmly. “I can take care of myself, Obie.”

“Oh, I think Ms. Potts-Hogan would laugh at you for saying that.” Obie actually chortled.

Tony closed his eyes. “Pepper approves.”

“Well, of course she does.” Obie got to his feet and brushed out his pants. “After all, she only wants what’s best for you. As do we all.” He smiled, and Tony relaxed and smiled back.

“Sure thing, Obie. Sorry for causing trouble.”

Obie shook his head. “Oh, it’s not trouble if you’re taking care of yourself.” Before Tony could marvel at the 180 that the older man’s attitude had taken, Obie had breezed out the door.

Tony sighed and got back to the paperwork.

 

As soon as four o’clock rolled around and people started punching out for the day, Tony switched out his stuffy business suit for sweats and a white tank. He slipped past Pepper’s office and grabbed his private elevator, punching the button for Bruce’s floor in R&D.

“Right on time,” Bruce called from his worktable by the window. The guts of various electronic devices were spread out in front of him. “I dug out a few other fun toys from college and high school. They’re a few decades old, but they’re still usable.”

“This FLIR you handed me?” Tony hefted the hard-case and strode over to the windows. “It’s surprisingly nice. How much did it set you back?”

“Eeh, I got it for a hundred bucks back in the nineties,” Bruce answered. “Scraped it together while working part-time.”

“Ah, the nineties. Such a simpler time.”

Bruce snorted. “Sure thing, Tony.”

Tony sidled up next to him and peered at the circuitboard under the magnifying glass. “Are you re-wiring a trip sensor?”

“Yep. I’m giving you a bunch of warning signals to put in the hotspots in your house.” Bruce moved away to let Tony have a look.

Tony whistled. Bruce’s work was always simple and elegant.

“You got your soldering iron up and running?”

“It’s over there, on the other table.” Bruce pointed without looking up.

“Good. Let’s get some work done.”

Bruce snorted. “Sure thing, Tony. Not like I’ve spent most of my afternoon on this.”

Tony knocked his shoulder against Bruce’s. “And I’m eternally grateful for all of the times you put up with my crap. I owe you big-time.”

“Damn right,” Bruce muttered, and Tony laughed.

 

A few hours later, the sound of heels clacking on naked cement echoed throughout the lab. Tony and Bruce looked up to see Pepper picking her way across the danger zone, a long-suffering look on her face.

“I’ve been calling,” she said, sounding weary. She should have gone home -- Tony checked his watch -- _hours_ ago.

“My phone’s kind of broken,” Bruce scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I figured it wasn’t on purpose.” Pepper smiled at Bruce, and Tony busied himself with finishing up the soldering job on the camera’s circuitboard.

Pepper’s heels came to a stop in front of the extra workbench, and Tony finally looked back up, task completed. “So. Pep. Wassup?”

“Steve Rogers called. He said that he’ll be able to get the baseline on the Mansion this Friday.”

Tony nodded. “Coolsies. Please tell me you accepted on my behalf?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I still don’t know what you’re trying to achieve with this,” she said flatly.

“Peace of mind. And maybe a sizable scientific discovery.” Tony shot her a roguish smile, and Pepper rolled her eyes again.

“He sounded nice enough, but you know what they say about wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

“I’ll be going along to make sure he doesn’t try anything funny,” Tony reassured her.

“You’re taking Happy.” Pepper said firmly.

Tony set down the soldering iron. “Um. Did you talk to him about this?”

“He’ll do it,” Pepper answered airily, spinning on her heel. “That is, if he wants to continue to sleep in a bed.”

Bruce looked like he was fighting a bout of laughter.

“Pep, he’s not really keen on ghosts and that kind of thing.”

Pepper sent him a withering look. “I know. I married him, remember? He can’t even sit through _Ghostbusters_.”

“Yeah. So. I’m thinking he might want to stay out of this,” Tony put on his most pleading-est face.

Pepper was unswayed. “He’s your bodyguard.”

“Against human threats!”

“Ghosts were once human,” she said sweetly.

“You are a cruel, cruel woman,” Tony said, dazed. “ _Cruel_.”

She blew him a kiss and glided back to the elevator.

“This’ll be hilarious,” Bruce said. “Make sure you videotape _everything_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Roomba. You all know where that came from. ;D


	4. there might not be too many who would stand beside you now

Steve pulled the EMF detector out out of his pocket and peered at it. “No noticeable activity,” he reported via walkie-talkie.

“Copy that,” said Sam from the van (a.k.a. base camp.) “Your radar getting any pings?”

“Nah, all’s quiet on this front,” Steve answered. “Clint?”

“Well, it’s dark and quiet and kind of moist. Did you know that the word ‘moist’ annoys more people than any other word? Moist. Moist moist moist.”

“Natasha?” Steve tried, making a face. “Status?”

“Annoyed.”

“I meant on the case.”

Natasha sighed. “Quiet over here too, Cap.”

Steve bit his lip. “Okay,” he said into the radio. “Going green, everyone keep sharp just in case.”

“I still think the old lady is imagining things,” Clint said sullenly.

Steve had to agree. “You’re probably right, but we might as well be thorough to put her at ease.”

“Plus,” Sam added cheerfully, “We get paid for hours spent working.”

“True,” Clint said, a little bit brighter.

“ _Sam_.”

“What? You want to hear the word ‘moist’ a couple hundred thousand times tonight?”

Steve shook his head. “We’re doing this as a public service. Not to get rich off of it.”

Clint snorted. “Hey, nobody wants to get rich here. I wouldn’t mind being able to pay my rent, but I’m not worried about rolling in the deep.”

Steve felt his forehead crease. “I’m getting the feeling that’s another pop culture reference I missed.”

“Remind me to forward you Adele’s Vevo channel,” Natasha said. “Also, I’ve gone green.”

“Same here. Nothing’s happening.”

Steve looked at his EMF detector. The needle stayed stubbornly at neutral. “Yeah, same. Keep an eye out, just in case. Don’t forget what happened with the Parker job.”

The radio didn’t sound, but he knew everyone was shuddering and groaning at the memory.

Steve shifted the radio into his cargo pant pocket and picked up his night vision camera. He pointed the lens at the EMF detector to record the reading, then closed his eyes to center himself.

_There’s nothing here, you know,_ Bucky said.

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve admitted. “But we still ought to do what we can to make Mrs. Rosenthal feel better.”

_You’re a friggin’ Boy Scout, Rogers._

“I’m not ashamed of this,” Steve muttered.

_And you’re not ashamed of flirting with Mrs. Rosenthal’s pretty daughter…_

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Bucky laughed, and it actually echoed in the empty cellar.

“For the record,” Steve said to the camera, “that was Bucky.”

_I got a nice boost of energy from the electrical box over there,_ Bucky indicated the control boxes in the corner, and Steve stepped over the boxes of unused stuff littering the floor. He consulted the EMF detector and raised his eyebrows when it spiked. “Yeah, that might account for the feeling of being watched down here. EMF spike near the electric controls in the cellar,” he added for the camera. He radioed his find up to the others (Natasha in the kitchen and dining room; Clint in the attic), fully expecting similar results.

Two hours later, everyone managed to pinpoint old, outdated electronics that were spitting out high EMF readings. Steve had been doing this long enough to discount a lot of the phenomena they encounter as overactive imaginations fueled by equally overactive electromagnetic fields. He did manage to make contact with what turns out to be a benign spirit - Bernie’s grandfather, the client’s father, who reassured Steve that he only popped in once in a while to make sure his girls were doing all right. Steve promised to pass along the message, along with a few added details to prove it was actually Mrs. Rosenthal’s father.

Of course, Mrs. Rosenthal burst into tears when he told her about her father checking up on her (“He swore he’d never leave us be, he’d always be at our shoulders! Even to his dying day!”)

He pulled Bernie aside to mention the energy surges throughout the house as Sam comforted her crying mother. “A lot of the appliances in the house are causing her to be more paranoid. It’s just an electromagnetic field that tends to make people feel like they’re being watched. I’d recommend updating her kitchen appliances and getting the circuit-breaker looked at.”

“I can get that done,” Bernie agreed, smiling faintly. “And the only ghost you encountered was my grandfather?”

Steve nodded, glancing upward. “He’s all set, nothing to do there.”

“I really can’t thank you enough for this, Steve.” She gripped his hand, and pulled him in for a hug. “You didn’t have to come out here and coddle my mom.”

“God knows she coddled me,” Steve laughed in her ear.

“She always liked you,” Bernie admitted. “She’s surprised we went our separate ways, but. You know.”

Steve nodded. “I know.”

_You’ll always love her, and she’s aware of that,_ Bucky muttered. _But there’s another guy in her future. Don’t tell her, let it be a surprise._

“I’m going to go grab all of my gear and stuff,” Steve said, giving her one last squeeze.

“Oh!” Bernie pulled away and grabbed for her wallet on the kitchen counter. “Here, for the expenses--”

“For Pete’s sake, Bernie, I don’t need--”

“I’ll take that, thank you!” Clint’s hand suddenly appeared over Steve’s shoulder. He snatched the cheque out of Bernie’s hand, and she laughed while Steve glared at Clint.

“This was a favor for an old friend,” Steve growled. “No fee.”

“Steve, I don’t know about you, but we could use a tune-up on the night-vision camera.”

“Think of it as a gift?” Bernie tried, still giggling.

Steve sighed, and Clint took the opportunity to flee back to Sam and Natasha.

“My mom would have insisted,” Bernie added, patting Steve’s shoulder. “You don’t know it, but you’ve really set her at ease.”

“It doesn’t feel right, charging you.”

“Steve. You’re running a business. I would charge you if you consulted me for legal reasons.”

Steve rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Good to know.”

Bernie kissed him on the cheek. “Go home and get some sleep. I hear you’ve got a big-deal client lined up next.”

Steve groaned. “Yeah. _Him._ ”

 

Stark’s PA had contacted him the day after he’d called back with a projected timeline. She’d shown up at the office the minute Steve had returned with lunch for him and Nat and Wanda; despite her assurance that she wasn’t actually psychic, Steve had still been a little spooked. She’d then made him, Natasha, and all other investigative team members sign an ironclad NDA.

“If Mr. Stark’s consultation of a paranormal investigator hits the news, the company’s stock will be the least of our worries,” she’d added with a threatening look.

Steve had moved to reassure her that discretion was their utmost priority - and it was; a lot of his clients were downright embarrassed to be coming to a ghost hunter for help.

“If it helps, think of it as scientific exploration,” Steve added.

Ms. Potts-Hogan’s eyebrows had gone up. “Funny you should say that...”

It was then that Steve had discovered that not only was Mr. Stark’s desire to be present for the investigation very serious, but an outright sticking point. That, and he’d be bringing a bodyguard. Steve had been willing to bend on letting Stark - and Stark _alone_ \- tag along, but this was getting a bit grating. He was almost willing to let the deal go, but Natasha had shown up in his office with that _look_ on her face that said “you will take this job and you will not complain.” She’d even dropped a stack of papers on his desk right in front of him, narrowly missing his lunch. Right on top, prominently displayed, was their most recent invoice for company expenses.

Long story short, they needed the job. And the money.

Ms. Potts-Hogan had nodded to Natasha as she’d exited. They’d exchanged approving glances. Steve had been moderately terrified.

So yeah. Baseline was going to be later on in the day, after everyone got some sleep. Clint and Natasha went back to their respective apartments, and Steve and Sam trudged up the stairs to theirs. Steve didn’t even scold Sam for dumping their share of the equipment on the couch and heading straight to bed. Instead, he sighed and kicked off his shoes the minute he shut his own door behind him.

_So if Stark being around makes his father active, you should do the baseline without him there._ Bucky said as Steve stripped off his sweatshirt and jeans.

“I’ll have to fight him for that,” Steve said tiredly. “I don’t wanna think about it.”

_Maybe I can scare him out?_ Bucky suggested.

Steve dropped onto his bed without any preamble and buried his face in his pillow. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he yawned. “I’ll think of something.”

_Whatever you think of, keep it clean,_ Bucky teased.

Steve flipped him off, and Bucky laughed, and Steve was too tired to even try to get the last word. He fell asleep very, very quickly.

 

“Here,” Clint grumbled, climbing back into the van and shoving Steve’s coffee at him. “Your prissy girly drink.”

Natasha cuffed him without even looking as she pulled out of the Dunkin Donuts parking lot.

“I mean… yeah. Whatever.” Clint yawned widely and slumped into his seat, his chin pressed to his collarbone and eyes drifting shut. He had bags under his eyes, Steve noted.

“No caffeine for you, Birdbrain?” Sam teased.

Clint flipped him the bird, which had Sam laughing even harder. Steve became even more convinced he was secretly not actually human. He was as fresh as a daisy after only a few hours of sleep.

Of course, Steve was about as well off. He was just grabbing a coffee to keep his hands warm. It didn’t hurt that everyone was doing that pumpkin spice thing this time of year.

And Steve knew for a fact that Clint loved the pumpkin flavor trend for the autumn.

“Take a nap, sourpuss,” Steve said, inhaling the scent of the coffee. “Sundown is in two hours, so we’ll have to work quickly.”

“Shit,” Clint muttered, not even opening his eyes. “Why are we doing this job so soon?”

“Because money,” Natasha answered breezily. She was probably tired as well, but refused to show it.

Sam looked back at Steve and raised his eyebrows. “What does Bucky have to say about this?”

“Same as always,” Steve said. “Do it, it’ll be good for your business, gain experience, et cetera et cetera.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him. “Oho?”

“Yep.”

_Nope,_ said Bucky in the back of his mind.

_Shut up, Buck._

Truth was, Bucky had been unbearably smug ever since he’d accepted Stark’s job. In between ribbing him about this and that, he kept telling Steve that big changes were in the wind. Steve wasn’t so sure of what to think of that.

“Should I be pushing?” Sam asked, giving the distinct impression of being fully willing to.

“I’d rather you not.”

_Stark is already there,_ Bucky said in his ear, and Steve sighed as the building headache finally started to throb in his temples. It was just a stress headache, but still.

“He says Stark beat us there.”

Natasha made an unidentifiable noise. “I’m more worried about this bodyguard of his. Two inexperienced hangers-on is not going to let this go smoothly.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Steve said, and Bucky projected affirmation.

“Maybe we should have brought Carol with,” Clint mumbled. “I mean, if this ghost doesn’t show up when other people are around, it might be useful to have a living energy pump tagging along.”

“We’ll have to see,” Steve answered. “I want to get a baseline first.”

“She could keep Stark busy.”

“I have a good feeling about him,” Steve said wryly. “Gut instinct is telling me it was a good idea to let him come in with us.”

Natasha caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. “That’s… good, I guess.”

“Good good good good.” Clint flopped his head back against the headrest. “Ow.”

Natasha snorted. “Remind me to never book two investigations back-to-back ever again.”

 

Stark Mansion was absolutely gorgeous. It was also _huge_.

“Must be nice to be loaded,” Sam observed as they pulled into up to the gate and waited to be let in.

A thickset man wearing a suit hurried over and unlocked the gate in order to pull it open himself. He waved them in and shut the gate behind them.

Stark was waiting by the door nearest the front drive. As soon as Natasha killed the engine, he knocked on the door. “Let’s get this over with,” he said nervously, glancing up at the empty house.

It did seem a bit... _foreboding_.

Nat, Clint, and Sam all rolled their eyes at Stark and piled out to start grabbing the gear.

“Radios should carry no matter where you go in the house,” Sam said to Steve, handing him a walkie. “But the basement might give us trouble.”

“Hopefully we don’t have to go into the basement then,” Steve replied, waggling his eyebrows.

“Willing to bet there’s an EMP pump floating around down there,” Clint said over their shoulders as he manhandled the infrared camera bag.

Sam snorted as he settled inside of the back of the van. “I’m not even gonna entertain that bet.” He started turning on the monitors and calling checks, which Natasha and Clint responded to.

Steve was about to start unpacking his personal camera when he caught Stark staring at the equipment. “Is there a problem with recording this? I didn’t get that impression when we met--”

Stark shook his head. “No, just getting a look at what I’ll probably have to work with.”

“You really don’t have to handle anything,” Steve told him, squatting down to start fiddling with his night vision camcorder. “The four of us can take care of this stuff.”

“Well, a friend of mine donated some equipment of his own for this little… venture.” Stark gestured at his car, parked in front of the van. “Trip sensors, FLIR, and stationary night vision.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Friend?”

“He’s the biologist. Did some studies back in college involving night habits of primates.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know about this?” Clint pointed out, his brow furrowed.

Stark sighed. “Well, he’s a close friend and trustworthy. He also works for me, so he has as much interest in keeping the company afloat as I do.” He shrugged. “Just thought I’d help where I could.”

“The trip sensors will be useful, actually.” Steve shot him a smile. “Thanks.”

Stark blinked. “Don’t mention it.”

“Okay, home base is live!” Sam announced, climbing out of the back of the van.

“Home base?” repeated the man that Steve figured as Stark’s bodyguard.

“Happy,” Stark said tiredly. “You know Pep wouldn’t let you stay in the van.”

“I am willing to sleep on the fucking couch, okay? I do not need to be within ten miles of ghosts, man.” Happy glanced up at the empty house. They all followed his line of sight.

As they watched, one of the lights upstairs flicked on.

“Holy _shit_ \--” Happy scrambled away from the door and tripped onto the grass.

“Well,” Natasha muttered. “Looks like we’re not getting a baseline after all.”

“Shit, shit, _shit,_ ” Stark whimpered, flapping his hands in what Steve sensed was borderline panic.

“Calm down,” Steve ordered. “You’re only making it worse. Ghosts can’t hurt you.”

Sam and Natasha shot him a _look,_ which he ignored. Stark didn’t need to know about the Red Skull case.

“Let’s finish getting set, and then let’s go.” Steve checked the battery for his night vision camcorder and made sure he had extra batteries; ghosts really loved to drain his camera, making sure to go for his equipment first before everyone else’s. He still was annoyed about the time with the Xavier case - a full-body apparition that everyone had seen, and it had sucked his battery dry before manifesting. Bastard.

“Boss,” Happy whispered loudly. “Boss, I’m staying out here. I’m not scared of my wife.”

“But **_I_** am,” Stark hissed back. He glanced up at the lit window. “Shit, that’s my dad’s study.”

Bucky prodded Steve in the intuition, and he frowned. “I’m getting the sense that that room is relevant?” He fixed Stark with his most authoritative stare.

Stark looked down at the gravel. “I might’ve… had a dream about it last night.”

“Right. Okay. Baseline first, then we set up trigger objects in the study.” Steve got a big yes from his intuition. _Anything on your end?_ he asked Bucky.

Bucky sent back frustration, and Steve had the distinct impression of a curt shake of the head. _There is someone in there, but it’s not a ghost. And there is a ghost in there, but they’re almost hibernating._

“Wait.” Steve signaled a halt and everyone stared at him. “Bucky says there’s someone living already in there.”

“ _What?_!” Stark demanded. “I’ve been being punked this whole time?!”

“There’s a ghost, but he’s not being active,” Steve said quickly. “But there’s someone else in there. Someone living.”

“Oh, _fuck this shit_ ,” Stark growled. He lunged for the door and unlocked it with hands that were shaking in fury rather than fear. He got the door open and disappeared into the house.

“Shit, shit shit shit shit--” Happy followed his boss, still looking terrified.

“Goddamnit, let’s go.” Steve hefted the camcorder into a secure grip and went after them, Clint and Natasha flanking him.

They already heard Stark yelling in the distance, his voice echoing through the empty rooms and hardwood hallways. Steve couldn’t pick out exactly what he was saying, but he caught words like “you fucker” and “hand you your ass” and had to fight the urge to snigger.

_The ghost just woke up,_ Bucky said, and Steve sobered immediately. “C’mon,” he urged his team, and they sped up.

With Bucky giving him nudges, they made their way to a room upstairs that faced the front of the mansion. They found Stark and his bodyguard standing in what Steve knew instantly to be Howard Stark’s study.

“I _know_ I didn’t leave it like this,” the younger Stark was telling his bodyguard furiously. “Why would I leave the drawers open? Someone was in here!”

“Looks like it,” Natasha murmured, eyebrows up. She flipped on her regular camcorder and swept it around in a loose arc. “This place got ransacked.”

Ransacked was putting it kindly. Books had been pulled off of the shelves and tossed on the floor. The sofa and wingback chair had had their cushions pulled off and left on the ground, and every single one of the desk’s drawers that were unlocked had been yanked open and rifled through.

Stark looked up. “ _Fuck_ ,” he said, abandoning the desk and shutting the study door, which revealed a painting that had been pulled off the wall. Whoever had broken in had clearly been going for the uncovered safe.

“Is it still locked?”

Stark fiddled with the dial. “Yeah.” He started turning it, blocking it from view with his body, then let out an annoyed grunt. “Fuck. Dad must’ve changed it before he died. Paranoid bastard.”

Bucky prodded Steve again, and Steve made a face. _What does it have to do with anything?_

_You guys need to get into that safe. The intruder didn’t get in._

Steve shook his head. “Okay, we can work on that later. Let’s get the baseline before your dad starts getting active.”

Stark looked shaken. “Yeah. Okay.” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up straight from his skull. Steve was hit with an overwhelming feeling of weariness and anxiety.

_What a basketcase,_ Bucky remarked.

_Have some sympathy,_ Steve said shortly.

_I feel for the guy, but he’s kinda coming apart at the seams. It might be a good idea to get him off the case for a bit._

Steve nearly frowned, twisting to look at his Guide, who had appeared to his left. _What?_

_This is gonna be a long haul,_ Bucky answered.

“Steve?” Clint called.

“One second.” _Long haul?_ Steve repeated. _What do you mean?_

_This isn’t a straightforward haunting, Stevie. Something’s amiss._

Shit. _An explanation would be nice,_ he mentally grumbled in irritation.

_I’m as in the dark as you are,_ Bucky said defensively. _I get the feeling that Howard’s ghost is the key, but there are a couple locks that key fits in._

Steve groaned. “I don’t like this.”

“What? What don’t you like? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Happy’s voice became more feverish and high-pitched as he started to panic.

Clint stepped forward and slapped him hard on the back. “Breathe, man,” he said, and Happy took a deep gulp of air.

Stark didn’t look much better off. “What’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.

Steve sighed and rolled his shoulders. “I don’t really know. Bucky’s talking to me, but it doesn’t make sense.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Does Bucky feel like telling us specifics?”

“He would if he knew.” Steve was about to explain more, but he got a sharp prod in the intuition again. “Wait.”

They all went silent, and Happy practically started vibrating.

“Something… something’s on the move.”

_Male,_ his intuition told him. _Older. Definitely dead._

“I think it’s your dad,” he told Stark, who visibly paled.

“Where?” Natasha asked, pointing her camera at him.

“I… can’t get a read.” Steve closed his eyes and concentrated. The energy seemed hotter, bigger. That meant it was getting close… and possibly angry.

Steve had the distinct sense that he wouldn’t have liked Howard Stark in life.

“Well, fuck the baseline,” Clint muttered, and Natasha elbowed him in the ribs.

“He’s hanging back,” Steve realized, making Stark and Happy jump. “He’s not sure who we are. Doesn’t trust us.”

“Doesn’t that make everything harder?” Natasha pointed out.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He looked back at the others and made a split second decision. “C’mon, we’re going through the rest of the house.”

“Can’t we just stay in this well-lit area?” Happy asked feebly, and Steve spared a moment for sympathy.

“I know it’s scary,” Steve told the bodyguard, “but ghosts really can’t hurt you. Some of them draw strength from your fear, so you have to fight it.”

“Yeah, well,” Happy mumbled. “Easier said than done.”

“The fact you’re in here says you can do it,” Natasha said.

Happy let out a shaky breath.

“Let’s go,” Steve repeated. He made to reach for the handle, but the energy on the other side of it suddenly changed.

The double doors slammed open, and Happy squeaked.

Then the windows slammed open, sending a sudden burst of furious wind ripping through the room and sending papers flying. The lights flickered and went out.

“ _Intruders!_ ” a voice roared.

That was it. Stark and Happy screamed in terror and tore past Steve’s team and down the hallway.

“Wait!” Steve shouted, and Clint took off after them.

Natasha called to him. “Steve!”

_Focus, Cap!_ Bucky said in his ear, and Steve reached desperately for the livid energy that was Howard Stark’s ghost.

“Mister Stark!” he tried to say, but the howling of the wind swallowed up his voice.

“ _GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OOOOUUUUUUUT!_ ”

“Steve! We gotta go!” Natasha grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doors, out into the hallway.

The wind followed them out, and as they dashed to the stairs Steve heard the activity just stop.

_He wanted us out of there,_ Steve said to Bucky, who sent him a sense of agreement. It’s the safe, Steve reasoned, and he slowed to a walk.

Natasha doubled back. “Steve?”

“He won’t chase us out of the house. He’s only protective of the study.” Steve flipped on his night vision camcorder. “There’s something in the safe that he doesn’t want anyone but his son getting at.”

“Steve, there still might be an intruder in the house,” Natasha reminded him.

Steve checked with Bucky, but all his Guide would give him was an uncertain shrug. “Let’s regroup,” he decided.

Natasha rolled her eyes as if to say _finally_ and quickly descended the stairs.

Steve followed her, but not before aiming his camcorder’s view down the hallway and catching the doors to the study slamming themselves shut.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sam said as they reviewed the footage in the van. “That is an active motherfucker.”

“That’s a lot bigger than we’ve ever seen before, Steve,” Clint added. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much activity from one entity.”

“I don’t like it.” Sam turned to Steve and crossed his arms. “This ghost isn’t behaving like any of the others you’ve busted.”

Steve sighed. “I have to help him out,” he reminded his team. “Besides, look at Stark. He’s a few minutes away from a full-blown panic attack.”

“It’s going to be tough, but we can’t back out on this case--” Natasha stated, and Steve nodded in agreement.

“Besides, we need the money,” Clint grumbled.

Natasha cuffed him on the back of the head again, even though she’d been telling Steve the same exact thing in the office.

“We need to get the goddamn baseline, and that’s going to take a few hours at least, considering the size of the place.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I say we do that and then split. Stark isn’t going to be of much use tonight, and it’ll be all we can do to keep him here while we finish up.”

“See if you can headshrink him,” Clint suggested. “Or at least talk him off the edge.”

“Gallows humor,” Steve said dryly. “Not appropriate, Barton.”

Clint shrugged. “Meh.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam promised. “But let’s just get this finished for tonight.”

The others nodded in agreement and geared back up.

“Wait.” Stark appeared at Steve’s elbow, wide-eyed and still as white as a sheet. “Wait, wait wait wait wait wait-- y-y-y-you’re not going back in there, a-a-are you?”

“We have to,” Steve told him gently. “I said I’d help you out. This is what it takes.”

“Just…” Stark fixed him with as serious of a look as Steve had ever seen on him. “My dad was kind of an asshole,” he admitted. “He could fake being friendly, but he really wasn’t the greatest guy to know. Looks like death has removed his inhibitions.” Stark shuddered. “Just… if he starts getting nasty, get out. I mean it. I will pay you to get out of there if things get hairy.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “I was stationed in Iraq for a few years, Stark. It takes more than a mean ghost to make me head for the hills.”

Stark’s eyebrows went up. “Iraq?”

“Yep. Listen, you stay with Sam in the van and help him out with the technical aspect, okay?”

Stark took a shaky breath. “I think I can manage that.”

“Great! Thanks.” Steve nodded at Happy, who was sitting in Stark’s car and looking shell-shocked. “Is he gonna be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll talk Pepper into cuddling with him when he gets home. He deserves it.”

Steve snorted. “Okay, Nat and Clint. You guys ready?”

“Good to go, Cap!” Clint called.

“Ready,” Natasha added.

“Right. Let’s get this goddamn baseline, set up the night cameras, and call it a night.”

 

The house was as silent as a tomb when they went back in. This time, Steve couldn’t pick up on anything inside, alive or dead.

“Let’s split up,” Steve said, and Clint and Natasha nodded. They checked and recalibrated their digital thermometers and EMF detectors, then went their separate ways. Nat disappeared into the basement, Clint headed down the main floor’s hallway into the kitchen, and Steve climbed back upstairs.

He put his psychic feelers out, but nothing pinged. _Bucky?_

_Still here._

“He’s not, though,” Steve said aloud.

_Nope. Went back into hibernation, I guess. Just…_ and Bucky never hesitated like that. _Don’t provoke him yet. Don’t go into the den. I know you need a complete baseline and all, but. Don’t._

_Okay,_ Steve answered, and he consciously did not look at the tightly shut double doors.

He continued down the hallway, making note of the temperature and EMF readings aloud for the camera to pick up. When he passed a doorway, however, the EMF reader spiked, making a loud feedback noise.

Steve felt something tugging on his mind. He glanced at Bucky, who had appeared at his side, and Bucky nodded.

Steve gently nudged the slightly ajar door open and poked his head into the room. “Hello?” he called, switching on his digital audio recorder. “Is anyone here?”

He didn’t hear a response, but he kept the recorder on in case he managed to get an EVP.

_I’m going to leave you be, just in case they’re skittish,_ Bucky said in his ear, and he felt his Guide disappear into the ether.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Um. My name is Steve Rogers, and I’m here because Tony Stark asked me to try and contact anyone or anything here. Can you give me a sign you’re here?”

There was a sudden, very strong scent of lilies, and an energy that whispered _female_ to him entered the room. Now that his eyes had adjusted, Steve could see it was the bedroom of an older child or a young teen.

_Tony’s room,_ his intuition said.

The ground was littered with mechanical bits and bobs, the likes of which Steve couldn’t identify, and the nearby desk-cum-drafting table was covered in blueprints and diagrams for machines and components that he didn’t recognize. He edged carefully into the room and then his mind’s eye filled with the image of a dark-haired woman sitting on the bed.

_Maria Stark,_ his intuition said.

“Are you Maria?” he asked, setting the recorder down on the desk.

She nodded.

“Will you talk to me?”

She looked up at him, and met him with eyes the same color as her son’s. _You’re here for Tony?_ she asked.

Steve nodded. “He asked me to help.”

_Howard is… he always was angry, but he was a genius. Tony was even smarter, but he was so young…_ Maria’s eyes filled with tears. _I never wanted to leave him alone, she whispered. I wasn’t meant to, but…_

Steve felt a very strong pull in his gut; something relevant -- “Tell me about it. Please. I can help,” he urged her.

She shook her head. _I’m dead, Captain,_ she said ruefully. _And I’ve accepted that. This is my penance for what I did while alive. But Howard… Howard is confused. He doesn’t know what’s happened to him. He doesn’t understand._

Steve had gotten that impression. _How can I help you move on?_

She smiled sadly. _Help my son. Help him in the way that I can’t anymore, that I never could. Help him move past Rumiko._

“Rumiko?” Steve repeated, forehead creasing.

Maria started to fade away.

“Wait -- Mrs. Stark--”

His walkie talkie crackled. “ _What the fuck, Rogers?_ ” Stark’s voice came through, shaken and furious at the same time.

Steve blinked as Maria disappeared, then he fumbled for his radio. “I just ran into Maria Stark--”

“ _You’re in my bedroom, Rogers. What the hell? And why are you talking about Ru--_ ”

Steve took a deep breath. “I’ll explain when I get back down there.” He felt around for any more energies, any more spirits, but he got a resounding _nada._ He sighed and picked up his recorder, hoping it had managed to pick up _something_ of his conversation with Maria. “I’m continuing the baseline sweep,” he said into the walkie, then he clipped it back onto his belt. On a sudden twinge from his intuition, he pulled one of his miniature remote cameras out of his bag and set it very deliberately on the desk, switching it on to record and broadcast. “I’m not through with this place,” he said aloud.

Nothing answered him, and he wasn’t sure if that ought to comfort him.

 

The remainder of the baseline upstairs was conducted without any interruption or spiritual activity. Bucky showed back up just as Steve was considering trying to edge into the study again in order to set up another mini-cam, and quickly put the kabosh on that.

He rejoined Clint and Natasha at the van outside, and Sam was busy entering in the data into the spreadsheet on his laptop. “I’m just finishing up, then we can break down for the night,” he said, and Steve nodded.

“Can we talk?”

Stark appeared at his elbow again, and without waiting for a response, grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him down the drive, away from the others.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Stark demanded furiously as soon as they were earshot. “In my old bedroom. What the _hell_?”

“Look, I ran into your mother in your old room. She pretty much did the psychic equivalent of inviting me in, and I had to.”

“So my mother’s a ghost in there too?” Stark’s brows drew together.

“Looks like it.”

“You mentioned Rumiko,” Stark pressed, and something like acute pain flashed in his eyes. Steve was struck by how much he looked like his mother.

“Your mom did,” he corrected Stark. “She said she wanted someone to help you move past whatever happened with Rumiko.”

Stark closed his eyes. “I… that’s none of her business.”

“You’re her son. She doesn’t have to stop caring about you after she dies.”

Stark snorted. “Not like she did much of that in life.”

Steve was overwhelmed with a sense of regret, and Bucky flashed images into his mind’s eye. “She’s trying to atone for that,” he told Stark, who stiffened. “That’s why she’s still here. She said it was her penance.”

“She never did anything _wrong,_ ” Stark hissed. “She may not have done much, but she never did anything _wrong_ \--”

“Tony!” Steve snapped, and Stark fell silent. “Look, emotions don’t often make logical sense, okay? But your mother is still in that house and she wants me to help you. So I will, so she can move on. All right? It’s that simple.”

Stark shook his head. “It’s never that simple.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure, fine, it’s not simple, but that’s what it is. Just… let me do my job, okay?”

Stark looked back at the empty house, and Steve followed his gaze.

“Okay,” Stark finally said.

This time, neither of them were shocked when the study light flicked back on and then off again, plunging the house into complete darkness.

 

 


	5. (whisper) every time I fall asleep, every time I dream

The study doors were cracked, a bit of light spilling out.

He crept closer, on silent feet, until he could peer in between the doors.

His father paced back and forth in front of his desk, hands moving and words spilling from his mouth, slurred and angry.

Obie was perched thoughtfully in the wingback, one leg crossed over the other. He was stroking his beard.

“ _I said it once, Obadiah, I said it a thousand times… that the world is not ready_ \--”

“ _Howard, don’t be selfish,_ ” Obie interrupted tiredly. “ _The world isn’t going to be ready until you let it be. You don’t know what will happen_.”

“ _I saw what they were doing with my aeroplane designs!_ ” Howard roared, whirling on his friend and business partner. “ _Where did they get those schematics, huh? Not from me, that’s for sure!_ ”

“ _Are you accusing me of stealing your designs? Do you honestly think I would be selling them to our competitors?_ ” Obie asked mildly, but there was a sense of menace, like a dagger hidden under a veil of silk.

Howard’s eyes flashed angrily. “ _I don’t know what to think._ ”

Obie got to his feet and something cold filled the very air. “ _Howard, my friend, I don’t think you should drink so much._ ” Obie leaned in close. “ _You don’t always make your best decisions when you’re drunk._ ”

 

Tony woke up.

He groaned and sat up on the futon, scrubbing at his crud-filled eyes.

“Good, you’re up.”

Tony jerked in surprise as Rhodey poked his head into the makeshift guestroom/den and glared mockingly. “How was the ghost hunt?”

Tony closed his eyes and flopped back. “No. Nope. Coffee first.”

“Get up, you leech.” Rhodey pushed the door the rest of the way open. “You can’t sleep the day away, even if it is the weekend.”

Tony flipped him off. “Fuck you, I’m CEO.”

Rhodey snorted. “Okay, _sir._ Food is out on the counter if you want something you don’t have to cook.”

He didn’t have to bring up the last time Tony tried to cook. No one does.

Tony made a face at him as he ducked away, grinning cheekily.

The sunlight coming in through the blinds on the nearest window was strained, but it still managed to hit him right in the face. Yawning and stretching, Tony managed to lever himself out of his cocoon of blankets and quilts and pillows. He winced as his back cracked in a series of painful pops.

_You are **running out of time!**_

Tony froze as his father’s voice rang through the back of his head.

_...running out of time…_

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. “What’re you trying to tell me, Dad?”

 

The first thing he did when he got into the office was page one of his senior R&D workers, Yinsen. Tony knew he’d be in, even on a weekend. That was one thing they shared: dedication to the business, mostly R&D. Tony clocked more weekend hours in R&D than he did in administration, which was honestly how he liked it. Yinsen felt the same.

The old Middle Eastern man had worked for SI since during his father’s reign, and he would know best what Tony was trying to discover.

“Yinsen! Buddy.”

He heard his employee sigh into the speakerphone. “I do hope you aren’t foisting Mister Stane off on me again.”

“What?” Tony frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“He has been coming down here quite a bit over the past few months, ever since you returned from California.”

“Huh.” Tony chewed on a hangnail. “What was he asking about?”

“He didn’t really ask after anything. I thought he was down here on your orders.” Tony could practically hear Yinsen shrug.

“He must have a pet project he’s working on.” He drummed his fingers on his desk and stroked his goatee. “Speaking of which, could you come upstairs for a quick chat? I have a project for you.”

“Those words always mean an interesting week for me,” Yinsen chuckled. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

 

Pepper stalked into his office before Yinsen arrived and slammed a palm on his desk, startling him. “What the _hell_ happened last night?” she demanded.

“Fucking insanity, that’s what!” he snapped, jerking back in his chair. “Someone broke into the mansion and then my father’s ghost showed up and yelled at us. Plus, he’s got mad ghost powers--”

Pepper glared.

“I’m serious!” Tony insisted. “He threw all the doors and windows open and whipped up a tornado in the study! I have video proof!”

“I would sure love to see that proof,” Pepper growled. “Because my _husband_ was not a fount of information when he got home last night.”

“Well, we were both scared shitless, okay?” Tony shot back at her. “Go ask Rogers and his crew, they’re reviewing the evidence today. I’m sure they’ll let you see it.”

“Good.” Pepper narrowed her brilliant green eyes at him. She did the “got my eye on you” gesture as she pivoted and disappeared out the office door.

Tony let his head thunk on the cold desktop. _Ugh._

There was a knock on his door. “Mister Stark?”

He sat up and smiled at Yinsen, still clad in his white labcoat. The man’s wardrobe probably hadn’t changed since the Reagan administration, with tan pants, a button-up shirt, and a neat vest, complete with old-fashioned round glasses perched on the end of his hawk-like nose. He looked more like an academic than the head of the medical tech research division.

“Yinsen. Good to see you.” Tony stood up as Yinsen stepped into the room. They shook hands, and then Yinsen sank into the proffered chair as Tony retook his.

“So.” The older man leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “What kind of project do you have in store for me?”

“I need you to go through the archives and find out what my father was working on with R&D at the time he died,” Tony answered, opening one of the drawers to his left and drawing out a keycard. “You are the only person in R&D that was around when dear old Dad was still in charge. Something’s come up, and I need to get an idea of what he would have been… obsessed with, right before the crash.”

Yinsen’s eyebrows went up. “I already have an idea. Your father was elbow-deep in the clean energy initiative when the accident occurred.”

“Energy?” This was surprising, but not completely so. Howard Stark had been obsessed with staying at the forefront of technology and innovation, it only made sense that he attempted to tackle a problem plaguing America since right around Tony’s birth.

“Well, looks like I chose the right man for the job.” Tony handed the keycard over. “This should give you all the permissions you’ll need to get into the archives. I think it’s time Dad’s old pet project got unearthed.”

 

Steve curled tighter under the covers, shutting his eyes tightly and drawing his energy in closer to himself. _No,_ he said as loudly as he could. _Not now. Too tired._

Where the hell was Bucky? Usually his Guide stood over him as he slept in order to keep his rest from being interrupted.

Whispers filled his ears, relentless and drilling into his skull. Images scrambled to the front of his mind, images of violence and blood dripping on walls. Invasive emotions forced themselves into his nervous system, making his heart race and his breathing pick up.

“Go away--” he gritted his teeth. “Not now. _Stop._ ”

“Steve?” And that was Sam’s voice, at the doorway.

“Sam--” Steve tried to pull the covers away, but he couldn’t unclench his hands, couldn’t straighten his arms or uncurl. Couldn’t move. “Can’t-- can’t breathe--”

“Okay, _okay_ \--” He heard a drawer slam open and something clink. “Everybody out. Don’t make me call the Big Man down here, because I _will_.”

Suddenly, everything fell silent.

Steve felt every muscle in his body loosen. The oppressive energy that had filled his bedroom was gone. “God,” he said.

“Almost, not quite.” He heard the smirk in his best friend’s voice.

Steve sat up and threw back the covers just in time to see Sam putting his grandmother’s cross back into the chest in the hallway.

“Thanks,” he called hoarsely, and Sam grinned at him.

“No problem, bro.”

The phone in the kitchen rang and something whispered in his intuition.

“It’s Wanda.”

“I know better than to bet against you,” Sam called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the next room. There was a click and then Steve heard him say “Hey, Wanda.”

There was a moment of silence, then Sam said “okay” and he reappeared in the doorway. “It’s for you.” He tossed the phone at Steve, and Steve easily caught it.

“Good morning, Stevie dear,” Wanda said as soon as he held the phone up to his ear.

“Wanda. Hi.” Steve massaged the bridge of his nose. “Something up?”

“I just had a lovely woman named Sarah come through to me, insisting that I check on you.”

Steve felt his throat close up. “That’s my mother,” he said quietly.

“Oh.” Wanda breathed. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I should have known.”

“No, how could you?” Steve wasn’t even surprised that his mother had gone to Wanda first. After she’d appeared to him during his near-death experience, he’d actively tried to ignore the familiar touches in his mind. He didn’t think he was ready to really see her again.

Wanda backed off the subject right away, in lieu of the more pressing issue. “She came to warn me that you were about to get into something very dangerous.” She paused. “I think it has to do with the Stark job.”

“I figured.” Steve swung his legs out over the side of his bed and yawned. “Should I drop the case?”

“No.” He could almost see Wanda in his mind’s eye, errantly twirling her curly hair and biting a deep burgundy-colored lip. “No, your… your mother insisted you stay on it.”

“Good, because I wasn’t about to.” Steve stretched. “I’m going to check on Stark later on today.”

“I think that’s best,” Wanda said slowly. “But be careful. There are forces, both human and not, that are at play here.”

“Again,” Steve smiled wryly into the seemingly empty air in front of him; he knew damn well by now that no space was truly so. “Figured.”

 

Bucky showed back up by the time Sam left for his day job. Steve was about to head into the office to do his combing through the recorded evidence when his Guide reappeared in his sixth sense.

Steve actually let himself be annoyed and glared in Bucky’s direction. “Where the hell were you this morning?”

 _There’s something big going down,_ Bucky replied, unrepentant. _You’re tied into it, so I had to… go do things._

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What sort of things?”

_Ghost things._

“Were they important ghost things?”

Bucky shrugged. _This kinda stuff takes on different meanings when you’re dead._

Steve decided to ignore Bucky’s evasiveness and resumed his packing.

_Look, I can’t spoil the future, but I can try to make it as smooth for you as possible. That’s what I’m here for._

“I know,” Steve muttered. “I just don’t like being left in the dark.”

 _I don’t like leaving you in the dark,_ Bucky answered. _But rules are rules._

Steve almost asked who was even making the rules, but decided against trying to wrap his head around things he couldn’t comprehend.

 _Just stick to your Bible studies, Stevie,_ Bucky suggested.

“So this in no way, shape, or form has anything to do with the fact that you expended too much energy last night by popping up and bothering Clint?”

His Guide had the grace to look shamefaced. That alone told Steve he had been right. _C’mon, Stevie, don’t you be pulling that moral compass crap on me._

Steve sighed and glanced out the window, taking in the roiling clouds above. “I’m taking the subway in,” he said, grabbing his umbrella. “I don’t like the looks of that sky.”

_I don’t either, and I won’t even get wet._

 

The smell of autumn was crisp and pervasive, filling every pore of his being. But, this being New York, the weather threatened a downpour that became more and more pressing with every step. It outright began to downpour just as Steve managed to make it to the subway entrance.

“Gets ya every time,” said Stan, the ghost of the elderly porter at his stop. “Nuthin’ like that New York weather, huh?”

“No, sir,” Steve said, shaking off his umbrella. He only got a few weird looks.

He managed to make the ride without incident - last couple times he’d taken the train, there had always been another passenger with a spirit hanging on, and he’d been compelled by a sense of duty that he couldn’t explain to counsel them before he even reached his stop.

Sure, he’d improved the day for a few people, but he was starting to get a _reputation._

He could feel Bucky laughing at him in the back of his mind as he climbed out of the subway stop and unfurling his umbrella again. The office was only a few blocks away.

Clint was already in the evidence review room, plugged into the audio player and sitting stock-still, like a hawk watching its prey. He was more perched on his rolly-chair than actually sitting, which was a testament to his skill and sense of balance, and he had his chin buried in one hand. He didn’t acknowledge Steve when he entered.

Steve was far too used to this to be bothered by it. He merely set up his laptop and pulled out his camera and recorder in order to plug them in and pull the data off of them.

A few hours into the evidence review - which was a whole lot of nothing, bugs, and dust motes - Steve felt a tickle in his scalp that meant Natasha had arrived. Sure enough, the smell of warm dim sum soon filled the office, which had Clint pulling the headphones off of his ears and sniffing like a hound that had scented a rabbit.

“Relax,” Natasha said, dropping a promisingly greasy bag next to him on the desk. “I made sure to get the lunch special.”

“You’re an angel, Nat,” Clint said dreamily, ripping the bag open.

Natasha snorted, and handed Steve his order. “How did that recording turn out?”

Steve knew she meant the one he’d taken in Stark’s room, as he had been talking to Maria. “Total wash. I’m not surprised, she wasn’t really _talking_ -talking,” he said, as if it meant something.

Natasha nodded like it did. “Okay. Give me whatever you haven’t started on and I’ll dig in.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, turning back to his laptop.

They worked for a bit like that, munching away at the takeout, and then Clint said, very loudly, “Holy _shit_.”

Steve and Natasha both dropped what they were doing and looked up as Clint yanked the headphones off his head again and stared, wide-eyed, at the screen. “Holy shit,” he said again. “I know we’ve been on some weird busts, had some freaky EVP’s, but this is downright Poltergeist-level creepy.”

The other two exchanged confused looks as Clint pulled the headphone jack out of the laptop and tapped the rewind command into the audio player. “This is the audio from the camera you left in Stark’s bedroom. Fucking _hell_ , Steve, what did you say to this ghost lady?”

There was the barely-staticky sound of silence as the clip started up, Steve watching the little sound meters at the bottom of the scream as they bumped and shook a little at every little creak and rustle. Then:

It was almost like a whisper, like an old recording, but it got stronger as it went on.

“ _Happy birthday to you,_ ” the disembodied voice sang quietly, like the singer couldn’t get quite enough breath. “ _Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday, dear Tony…_ ”

Innocuous choice of song aside, Steve had to admit that the sound sent a trail of goosebumps up and down his spine. “That’s Maria Stark,” he said. Then, having run out of relevant things to say, he let out a long sigh and took a hint from Clint. “Holy _shit._ ”

 

Tony’s concentration was wrecked when Pepper buzzed him from her office. “What’s up, Pep?”

“Steve Rogers is on the line. Says it’s urgent.”

Tony frowned. That didn’t sound promising. “Okay, getting it.” He picked up the phone and jabbed the “line 1” button. “This is Tony Stark.”

“Hey. It’s… um…”

“Captain Ghostbuster,” Tony supplied, ignoring the uneasy feeling he was getting.

“Yeah. Him. I mean me. I mean…” there was a groan and Tony could practically picture the scene: Rogers, sitting back in his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting his face up towards the ceiling. “Shit. Listen, there’s no way for me to say it without sounding… weird. We got audio evidence.”

“What, other than the stuff that happened in the den?”

“Yeah. And, funny story, my camera died before that actually happened. Nat and Clint got it, though. But this isn’t from that thing.” Rogers paused. “It’s from after we left for the night. I… um.”

Tony waited, but Rogers seemed to be having trouble finding the words. “Just spit it out, Rogers.”

“I made contact with your mother in your old bedroom,” Rogers said, and Tony winced.

“Yeah?”

“So I left a mini-cam in the room to record all night, and we got another EVP from it. It’s… you really should hear this in person. Can I stop by and play it for you?”

Tony made a face. “Today?”

“I know this is uncomfortable. Frightening, even. But you really ought to hear it.”

There was an order hidden somewhere in that tone, even if the sentence wasn’t structured for one. Tony’s eyebrows went up without his permission and he glanced at his open door, though he didn’t quite know why he did. “It’s fine, I guess…”

“Great. When are you available?”

Tony checked the clock on his desk and considered. “Swing by around five,” he decided. Obie would be long gone by then. “Just you. And don’t mention the ghostbusting thing.”

“Sure,” Rogers agreed. “Five, then.”

“Cool. Great.” Tony hung up, still uneasy.

“What was that about?” Pepper asked, and Tony jumped in surprise as she quite suddenly appeared in the doorway. She actually looked concerned.

Tony flapped a hand at her. “Ghostbusters have some audio evidence they want me to hear. Rogers is stopping by later to show it to me.” He paused and mentally replayed what he’d said. “Well, you know.”

Pepper nodded slowly. “You want me to stick around?” _For moral support_ went unsaid.

Tony shook his head at her. “Nah, go and make sure your husband isn’t still hiding under the covers.” He flashed his smile-for-the-cameras grin at her, but could tell she wasn’t fooled one bit.

“Really. Seriously, Tony--”

“Really, seriously, Pepper.” Tony looked at her seriously, which seemed to surprise her. “Don’t worry about it, I can handle the disembodied spirits of my long-dead parents.”

Pepper regarded him for a long moment, then sighed and turned on her heel. “You know,” she said, not looking at him. “You don’t have to front with anyone. You’re allowed to feel things.”

“I know,” Tony said slowly, unsure of her point. “I’m not a robot, Pep.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, and she disappeared into the hall.

 

Bruce stopped in to drop off more odds and ends he’d pulled out of storage, and in his own, fellow scientist-y way, offered his support. Tony appreciated it, much like he appreciated Pepper’s words, but with Bruce it was easier to let him know.

Of course, making a few jokes about Bruce’s strange, sometimes-easily-triggered temper didn’t always count as appreciation to normal, sane people, but since when had Tony ever surrounded himself with sane people? (Well, other than Pepper Potts. Rhodey had his wild streak, once Tony managed to goad him into it.)

Eventually, four o’clock rolled around, and Tony had pretty much been expecting the light tapping at his door.

He looked up to meet Obie’s gaze, and the older man smiled in that way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Hey, bud,” he said smoothly, taking one step into the office. “Late night last night?”

Tony frowned. He could have sworn he hadn’t breathed a word of the previous night’s ghost hunt to anyone other than Pepper, Happy, Bruce, and Rhodey. “I often have ‘em, Obie. It’s not affecting my work or anything.”

Obie’s eyebrows went up. “I know, I’m just concerned.” He didn’t make any further effort to move further into the office. His jacket was slung over one arm, and his tie was loosened; Tony hoped he’d be gone by the time Steve showed up with the evidence. He didn’t want to explain why his “life coach” had a tape recording with a ghostly voice on it.

“I mean, it’s obvious that you’re stressed… that thing with Rumiko and Ty, moving back here, your parents’ mansion, the life coach…” Obie raised his eyebrows and Tony fought the urge to react, even if he had the eerie feeling his old mentor was reading his fucking mind.

“I’ve had a lot of things happen,” Tony admitted, tossing his stylus onto his desk and rubbing his forehead. “And I’m trying this adult thing called ‘working through them’, like Pepper suggested. There’s bound to be some bumps in the road, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Obie answered easily, shifting on the balls of his feet and switching the jacket to the other arm. “Maybe it would be easier if we took some things off your plate. You’re not staying at the Mansion, right? We could donate it to the Historical Society--”

“No!” Tony interrupted before he could stop himself and reign his outburst back in. “I… I’m trying to reconnect with my old home,” he said slowly, haltingly, as Obie leaned back with a blandly surprised look on his face. “My life coach suggested it. I visited the house last night,” he added, slipping a grain of truth in there for whatever it was worth. “I need closure, and I need to get it where I can.”

“This is what that ‘life coach’ told you?” Obie pressed, making a face.

 _Well, some variation on it, at least,_ Tony thought, keeping his expression neutral. “Yeah,” he said, just to satisfy Obie.

Obie nodded slowly, his face looking strange without his usual smile on it.

 _Howard, don’t be selfish,_ the voice in his memory whispered.

The phone on Tony’s desk rang, but he didn’t answer it. He felt too much like a prey animal trapped in the gaze of a predator to even take his attention away from Obie.

“Just, just try to not depend so much on this life coach person, all right?” Obie said, striding over to him. He skirted the desk and drew even to Tony, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “You know you can come to me if you ever need anything, right?”

The phone stopped ringing.

Tony nodded. “Yeah; thanks, Obie.”

Obie patted his shoulder again and left after that.

 _You don’t make the best decisions while drunk,_ the memory whispered.

 

It was almost five before Tony realized he’d missed a call. Even odder, the caller had left a voicemail.

He punched the voicemail button just as Pepper was letting Rogers into the office.

“One second,” he said as it began to play.

“Mister Stark-- _Tony_ \--” Yinsen’s voice filled his ear. Tony immediately realized something was horribly wrong. He felt something cold drop into his stomach.

“I can’t explain over the phone. You need to come down to the archives, sub-basement three,” Yinsen continued, sounding harried and _frightened,_ even. “Something is terribly… your parents--”

The message ended as the line went dead.

Tony slammed the phone down onto the cradle and surged to his feet, shoving his chair back. “Walk and talk, Rogers,” he snapped, not even bothering to grab his jacket as he brushed past Pepper and the ghost hunter on his way out. “I gotta go, and you can come along. This is relevant. C’mon, move it!”

Rogers shot an apologetic look at Pepper and followed Tony, keeping pace with him easily. “What is it?” he asked.

Tony shook his head. “Not sure. I asked an old friend of mine to look into something… whatever my dad was working on when he died. This guy worked here when the crash happened.”

Rogers didn’t react visibly, but Tony got the sense of something ghostly whispering in the other man’s “ear”. “Huh,” was all he said.

They reached the elevator that only Tony and a few other trusted individuals had access to, and Tony punched the code for the archives sub-basement. He felt nervous. Jumpy. Skittish.

He didn’t like having those feelings.

The elevator began to descend, and his sense of anxiety got worse. “Jesus,” he muttered, tugging at his collar.

“I feel it too,” Rogers said quietly.

That didn’t make Tony feel any better.

They stood in semi-awkward silence, Tony unwilling to break it. He felt the beginnings of a flutter in his chest and took a deep breath, tried to slow his heart rate. So far, his usual coping methods weren’t working.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator dinged cheerfully, depositing them at the first of the sub-basements. “C’mon,” Tony said gruffly. “We have to take the stairs from here on out.”

Rogers nodded and followed him to the door at the end of the hallway with the stairs sign next to it. Tony pulled his keycard and waved it in front of the chip reader, which beeped and flashed green. He yanked the door open and waved Rogers through, and they hurried as quickly down the stairs as they could safely make it.

They made it to the second sub-basement, and Tony again let them through the security doors. The final fight of stairs was even tenser, like the air was becoming denser and denser with every step they took.

Tony let them in the last set of doors, and they stepped into the archives. “Yinsen?” Tony called, while Rogers peered through the shelves, eyes narrowed.

“There’s no one living in here,” he eventually said, and Tony’s panic spiked.

“What?” he demanded, mentally running through the cataloging system. “No, hold that thought. I know where he was when he called me.”

Tony took off, heading for the aisle that would house the documents from the early nineties. He mentally did an inventory of all the phone stations in the sub-basements and calculated which one would be closest to the section Yinsen would have been digging through.

He didn’t have to for long.

He skidded to a halt by a phone station, and he felt his body go cold.

“Oh, Christ--” Rogers said behind him.

The phone was on the hook again, but the wall--

Tony turned away as Rogers pulled out his cell phone, but the taller man cursed when he realized he didn’t have coverage. “Tony,” Rogers said urgently. “Tony, we need to call the police.”

“Fuck,” Tony said, his breath coming in pants. “Fuck, fuck, fu--”

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice called. She’d finally made it down to the sub-basement, and there was as silence as she made her way to the row. She screamed when she saw the spatter of blood on the wall next to the phone.

“Virginia!” Rogers snapped. “Call the police now.”

There was the sound of heels, skittering away.

Tony felt big, warm hands on his shoulders. “Tony, you need to breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

“Heart--” Tony croaked. “Heart issues--”

Rogers swore. “C’mon,” he muttered, and he scooped Tony up in a bridal carry and took him away from the--

From the crime scene.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan Lee cameo!


	6. suck my blood, break my nerve, offer me their arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end of the chapter; beware of spoilers.

Steve tried hard not to panic.

The minute Tony had seen the bloodstains on the wall, he’d started staggering and clutching at his chest. It was eerily similar to the way Steve himself had reacted to his childhood asthma attacks. Mrs. Potts-Hogan’s arrival had only escalated the situation, but he was grateful that she had followed his orders and gone upstairs to get a line out to the police.

Meanwhile, he managed to sequester Tony away in an empty conference room. Mrs. Potts-Hogan (“Pepper,” she corrected him. “My full name is a mouthful, so everyone calls me Pepper.”) had come in shortly after he’d managed to get Tony in a chair and breathing, however haltingly. She’d handed Tony some pills and a glass of water, and that was when Steve found out about the heart transplant.

“He was born with a heart defect,” Pepper had explained. “They were able to get a transplant, but it still gives him trouble when he’s stressed.”

“Fucking anxiety,” Tony had muttered, gulping down the water while Pepper rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

They consciously did not speak of what they’d found downstairs.

Eventually, the police arrived. The detective in charge was a smartly dressed, unassuming man named Coulson, and his CSI team followed Pepper downstairs to the sub-basement to investigate.

In the silence that followed in the wake of the team’s departure, Steve examined Tony critically.

 _I was worried about this,_ Bucky said. _I wasn’t sure what for, but…_ he sent a sense of a helpless shrug at Steve.

Steve did the psychic equivalent of a sigh and tried to maintain his calm and collected composure. _Is Yinsen dead?_

He didn’t want to ask, but the signs weren’t looking good.

Bucky projected a very negative vibe at him, and Steve decided not to tell Tony about it.

“I asked him to do it,” Tony finally said in a hollow voice.

Steve looked up as the dark-haired man shuddered. “It’s… it’s all my _fault_.”

“No,” Steve said sharply. “No it is not. It is _not_ your fault.”

“God, you don’t understand--” Tony buried his face in his hands and breathed harshly. “He was only down there because I asked him to go looking. He wouldn’t have been there-- wouldn’t have been involved--”

“Stop thinking like that right now,” Steve ordered. “I’m psychic, remember? And whatever I’m hooked into is telling me it’s not your fault.”

_Well, in the most technical sense, it kind of is--_

_Shut up, Bucky._

_Shutting._

“Don’t work yourself into another anxiety attack,” Steve said, softening his voice. “It’s not worth it, Tony.”

Tony glared at him, and Steve knew the other man was directing every negative emotion he possessed at him, but he didn’t care. Tony needed this.

And Steve had no idea what to do, anymore.

After about half an hour, Detective Coulson and an older Asian woman - Coulson’s partner, Detective May - strode back into the conference room.

“Sorry, but we’ll need to interview you,” Coulson said, almost gently. “And separately, too.”

Steve and Tony exchanged dull, shell-shocked shrugs and Steve got to his feet. “Take it easy, Tony,” he said, and Tony nodded tiredly.

Detective May raised her eyebrows, but sat down in the seat at Tony’s three o’clock.

Steve followed Detective Coulson out of the conference room and into one of the vacant offices, where they both sat down. The detective pulled a notepad out of his jacket and looked intently at Steve. “Start at the beginning, Captain Rogers.”

Steve blinked. “Excuse me?” He didn’t remember mentioning his status as a veteran.

The detective smiled blandly at him. “Knowing everything is my job, sir. It would be a great help to me if you could start at the beginning.”

Recalling how anxious Tony was over others finding out about his consulting a psychic, Steve carefully chose his words. “Mister Stark is consulting me about a private, personal matter. I’m performing investigative work at his request, into some goings-on at his family home.” Yeah, that sounded good.

“Regarding?”

And now Steve had the sense that the guy was fucking with him and already knew what his day job was. “A private matter,” he repeated firmly. “The nature of which is sensitive, also at Mister Stark’s request.”

Coulson nodded. “Ah. I see. And it was this private, personal matter that brought you here today?”

“Yes. It was a pre-arranged meeting, however short notice.” Steve had the feeling that total and complete honesty was the way to go with this. “I had something I wanted to review with Mister Stark, but before I could do so, he listened to a voicemail message and became agitated. He asked me to come with him to check on something, also having to do with this matter, and we went down to the sub-basement where found the bloodstains.”

“Just like that?” Coulson asked, scribbling in his notepad.

“We had to take the stairs down from the first sub-basement, and every landing was sealed with a security checkpoint. It took some time for us to get down there, but I’m sure if you check the security logs you’ll see.” And now Steve wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, but he let them flow. “Upon arrival and discovery of the bloodstains, Mister Stark began experiencing an anxiety attack, which aggravated a previously existing heart condition. I determined it would be best for his health if I took him away to some place where he could recover.”

Coulson nodded. “That was very thorough, Captain.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I have nothing to hide, Detective.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Coulson gestured at the digital recorder, in its case in his hand. “And that?”

“That pertains to the private, personal matter Mister Stark hired me about,” Steve answered as evenly as he could.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate that, in case it is relevant to the case.” The detective had the grace to look apologetic. “If it is indeed useless, I will return it to you myself.”

 _Just hand it over,_ Bucky said in his ear. _You have the backup copy on your laptop, and Stark isn’t in any shape to hear this now._

Steve put the recorder in the detective’s outstretched hand and sat through the rest of the detective’s line of pointed questions. After about fifteen to twenty minutes in this vein, Coulson evidently determined that Steve was nothing more than a very odd witness and let him go. “I may contact you with further questions. In the meantime, if you think of or find anything useful to the case, call me.” He handed Steve a simple card with several phone numbers and an email address printed on it, and then he let Steve out of the office.

Right as they stepped into the hallway, the door to the conference room opened and Detective May walked out. She and Coulson had a wordless conversation with meaningful glances, and then Coulson nodded to Steve. “Nice talking with you, Captain. Thanks for keeping your head in all of this.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“Interesting.” With that comment, Coulson and Detective May strode away.

Steve watched them go as Tony stumbled out of the conference room, holding to the doorframe for support.

Pepper rejoined them. Her face proclaimed that she was the bearer of bad news. “There are files missing from the archives,” she said quietly. “We don’t know which ones they are, but I’m willing to bet they would have made a lot of sense to you.”

“Shit. Fuck. I need to get out of here,” Tony mumbled, and his hands were still shaking. “Call Rhodey--”

“Rhodey had to go to Washington,” Pepper told him gently.

Tony swore again. “I do not need to be alone tonight,” he said tiredly.

“Come stay with Happy and me,” Pepper suggested, but Tony was already shaking his head.

“Not a good idea,” Tony answered over Pepper’s protests. “Pep, Pep, listen, I don’t need his brand of coping right now, sorry.”

“There’s a pull-out couch at my place,” Steve interjected. “You can crash there, and Sam and I will be around all night tonight.”

Tony was openly shuddering all over now. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna do that.”

Pepper took his hand and squeezed it, and then drew her boss in for a hug. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” she murmured into his hair, rubbing his back.

Steve looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something private.

“I don’t know about that,” Tony answered quietly, his voice wobbling. “I really don’t.” Nevertheless, he kissed her on the cheek and then turned to Steve, clearly working to regain his composure. “Okay, Captain Ghostbuster, lead us away.”

“I walked from the subway, but I think it would be best if we took a cab,” Steve said, and led them towards the lobby. “Do you want to get a change of clothes from your place?”

“That might be a good idea. I can pay for the cab fare, no worries.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Steve shot Tony a smirk, which got a tiny, tired smile in response.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbled, looking away. They entered the lobby just as the CSI team exited the public access elevator. A young woman with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail was talking loudly with the curly-haired young man at her side. “I don’t understand it,” she complained in a pronounced British accent. “Why have a Medical Examiner when we haven’t even found the body yet?”

Tony stopped walking abruptly halfway through the lobby, and Steve had to grab his arm and steer him out the lobby doors after the CSI team had left.

“Don’t listen to them,” he told Tony, who nodded stiffly. “I mean it. Don’t.”

Tony continued nodding jerkily, but his jaw was tight as he watched the team’s retreating backs.

Steve sighed and hailed the nearest cab.

Sooner they got to Sam’s and his place, the better.

Sam didn’t do much more than raise his eyebrows when he came home from the VA and found Tony Stark sitting on their couch in pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, watching cruddy reality TV with Steve.

Steve left Tony to _World’s Dumbest Criminals_ and pulled Sam aside, giving him the abbreviated version of the day’s happenings.

“I am liking this case less and less,” Sam finally said, glancing at Tony, who was sitting perfectly still on the couch and probably not actually watching the TV.

“We gotta see it through to the end,” Steve said firmly.

Sam regarded him slowly. “I go where you go,” he said at last. “But I’m not going unarmed and unprepared.”

“Agreed.”

Sam sighed and opened the fridge, digging out a beer. “What about the Stark Mansion case?”

“I get the feeling it’s all tied together,” Steve admitted. “I’m not gonna make you guys keep up on it, but I need to go back, see if I can talk to Howard or Maria.”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to try and contact Howard Stark,” Sam said.

“I don’t think it is either, but he’s the key to this.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Tony said he sent the missing employee to look up his dad’s old records from the time he died. That’s the middle of it all.”

“So what did the guy find?”

Steve hung his head. “The files are missing.”

Sam looked at him very seriously and set his beer down before placing both hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I know you still have your service sidearm,” he said simply.

Steve nodded.

“I want you to carry it on you at all times.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Sam patted him and smiled. “Good thinking.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shrugged Sam’s hands off. He ducked into the fridge to grab a beer for himself before turning to head back into the living room.

Tony was fiddling with his phone when Steve rejoined him. “I’m going to take some time off from the office,” he said mildly, but Steve picked up on how huge that was.

“That’s a good idea.”

Tony eyed the bottle in Steve’s hand and sighed. “I’d ask for a beer too, but I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

Steve blinked and quickly set the still-unopened bottle aside. “Wow.”

Tony shrugged. “Been sober a year now,” he said with a small, wry smile.

Steve didn’t know how to respond. “Good for you,” he finally managed as Sam, who had probably been listening at the doorway, swooped in and snatched up Steve’s beer, muttering under his breath as he vanished back into the kitchen.

Tony laughed, but it was a harsh, humorless one. “Too little, too late.”

Steve waited, his intuition telling him to stay silent and let Tony talk. Apparently, the genius industrialist couldn’t abide an uncomfortable silence.

“So I guess this is where we exchange tragic backstories, right?” Tony laughed again, that same, harsh fake-laugh. “Okay, fine, I’ll go first, since I already know yours.” He leaned forward to put his phone on the coffee table and braced his elbows against his knees. “I was engaged to be married,” he admitted, almost hesitantly, after a long while. “She was the most amazing woman I’d ever met. Vivacious, beautiful, smart, business-savvy, and headstrong. She didn’t need me, but she wanted me, and that was… that was fantastic. I’d never had that before.”

He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, which was starting to become curly as the gel of the business day wore off. “But I was deep in the bottle, even with her. That’s the thing with addiction, and all that other dark shit. It doesn’t matter how good your life is, because there’s always this black hole sucking everything down into it.”

Steve just listened as Tony sighed. “People who aren’t addicted, aren’t depressed, they don’t see it. They don’t see the reason why I drove myself nearly to death with booze. Why would they? I’m rich, CEO of a Fortune-500 company, and an international public figure. I could have literally anything I want. And I wanted Rumiko,” his voice turned wistful. “And she wanted me back, and that was the most amazing thing ever. For a while, that was all I needed. But it wore off… it always wears off. And the partying and the drinking and the late nights away from home came back in force.” He closed his eyes.

Steve had a bad feeling about where this was headed. “What happened?”

Tony looked him in the eye. “I came home early from a business trip.”

_Tony knew something was up, right as he pulled up to the garage. The extra, unfamiliar car in his spot was a giveaway._

_Well, maybe Ru had someone over. He wasn’t expected back for a few days, after all. And he’d been neglecting their relationship…_

_Tony grabbed the ring box off of the passenger’s seat and slipped it into his pocket as he climbed out of the Bugati. He could feel what felt like the beginnings of a heart attack, only more fluttery, so he took a deep breath and pressed on._

_“Ru?” he called as he climbed up the stairs from the garage-slash-workshop. The main floor and living area lights were off, and there were two glasses of wine sitting on the kitchen counter. The bottle was close to empty._

_He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and headed towards the bedroom, where he could hear the sounds of… “Ru?”_

_He threw the door open and Ru shrieked._

_“Oh my god--”_

“Tony--?”

_In the murky darkness, Tony could make out Ru’s midnight-colored hair against his thousand-count linen sheets. The room reeked of sex, and he fumbled on the wall for the light switch._

_“Don’t--”_

_He found it and flipped the overhead lights on, squinting as his eyes adjusted. He blinked, unsure of whether or not he was hallucinating. “Ty?” he demanded, and Tyberius scrambled out of his bed, a pillow clutched over his crotch._

_“I can explain--”_

_“I’m sure you can,” Tony said coldly as Ru drew the sheets to cover the bite marks on her chest._

_“Look,” Ty said, trying for his usual easy charm. “Ru got lonely. You’re never around. I was doing you both a favor--”_

_“Sure, sure you were,” Tony crossed his arms and tried hard not to look at Ru._

_“You neglected her, Tony,” Ty insisted, and Tony would have bought it if it weren’t for the fact that his own pillow was being used as a blocker for Ty’s junk. “You ignore her, and you don’t listen to her, and you’re always out partying--”_

_“Look at the pot calling the kettle black,” Tony snapped. “Or was that just grape juice sitting on the counter there?”_

_“Tony!” Ru shouted, and she looked visibly upset. “We’re not the ones with the problem!”_

_“I think infidelity is kind of a problem,” Tony shot back._

_“But he isn’t lying,” Ru said quietly._

_Tony stared at her. “But--”_

_Ru looked away, not at Ty or him. “I’m sorry… but I can’t--” she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t live like this!”_

_His heart thudded in his chest, and the weight of the ring box in his pocket felt like a stone._

_“You won’t even consider it?”_

_Ru shook her head, her eyes still red. She resolutely did not look at the black velvet box sitting on the table in front of her. “I’ll pack my things and be moved out by tomorrow.”_

_Tony could feel the cold sense of loss, of desperation. “But… I’m not angry at you. I forgive you--”_

_“It’s not that,” Ru interrupted him, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s… you. I can’t stand by you, Tony. You don’t take care of yourself, much less me. I need to be with someone who appreciates me.”_

_“I appreciate you!”_

_“I know, but it’s not enough. I’m sorry, it’s selfish, but I have to take care of myself.” Ru closed her eyes and breathed slowly. “God knows no one else will do it for me.”_

_“This is about the drinking and the lab binges, isn’t it? I’ll change for you, I promise.” Tony felt like getting onto his knees, but Ru hated melodrama._

_Ru laughed harshly. “How about you change for yourself, Tony?” She pushed the ring box back across the table, to him. “Before you run yourself into an early grave.”_

__

He glanced up at the TV again, as if Gary Busey’s crazed ramblings could unlock the secrets of the universe. He snorted suddenly. “They didn’t even last a month as a couple before Rumiko caught him in a closet with a couple of French models. But I haven’t really spoken to them since Rumiko left and…” he hunched his shoulders up, and looked so much smaller than the larger-than-life image he tended to project. “I haven’t really tried to reach out to Ru. Ty I’ve cut out of my life entirely. It took an intervention from everyone around me here for me to realize how poisonous my relationship with him was. Rhodey never liked him, that should have been a sign from the start. But Ru…”

Tony buried his face in his hands, and Steve wanted to do something, some sort of comforting gesture, but he squashed the impulse.

Eventually Tony managed to find whatever words he needed. “I don’t feel like I’m worthy of patching things up with Ru,” he admitted.

“Well, you quit drinking. That’s a start, don’t you think?” Steve smiled at him, and was pretty damned proud of himself that he managed to get a genuine smile back.

“It’s a start,” Tony agreed.

They regarded the TV again, where Tonya Harding was making some inane comment about the clip being shown.

“This show is fucking stupid,” Tony finally said.

“I know,” Steve answered. “But I can’t stop watching.”

Then they both laughed as the streaker guy on the surveillance tape got tased by the police.

The door creaked open, and Steve awoke instantly.

“Who’s there?” he mumbled, his words slurring together with sleep.

There was a slight breath, an inhale that was definitely coming from a living body. Something felt off.

Steve sat up and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then the blurry shadows resolved themselves into his bedroom and the slightly ajar door. With a little more squinting, the figure became Tony, peering around the doorjamb.

“Tony?”

The other man smiled, but it was a smile that seemed alien on his face. “Feeling lonely?” he asked huskily.

Steve’s eyebrows drew together. “Not really…”

Not that he didn’t think Tony was fairly attractive - and Steve had come to terms with the fact that he could appreciate the physical… attributes of both genders back when he was in high school - but the sense of _wrongness_ was making his skin crawl. He started to pull his covers back but then Tony slunk into the room and shut the door behind him.

Steve froze as Tony padded over to his bed and put a hand to Steve’s bare chest, eyes wide and appreciative. “God, you are a _marvel_ ,” he breathed, and there was a slight lilt to his voice that Steve was very sure he’d never had before.

It all became blindingly clear in an instant. “No,” he said, pushing Tony away.

Tony tilted his head, an unsettlingly coy gesture that did not suit him at all. “Not interested? You are a hard man to read, Steve.” He leaned forward again, but Steve caught his wrists and pushed him back.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Not-Tony snorted. “Does it matter? You’re lonely and this body is willing.”

Steve glared. “That’s not relevant,” he said coldly. “Because that is not your body and you do not get to do as you want with it.”

“Oh, you’re worried about the current tenant?” Not-Tony smirked. “Just think of him as along for the ride.”

Steve’s face contorted in his disgust. “Get out of Tony.”

“Awh,” the ghost pouted. “Is that any way to treat someone willing to warm your bed?”

“What part of _no_ do you not understand?” Steve snapped. “Look, whatever your name is--”

“Lorraine,” the ghost using Tony’s body purred.

“Great,” Steve said tersely. “Now get out of Tony--”

Lorraine managed to worm Tony’s hand out of Steve’s grasp. “You know, I’ve been watching you for a while,” she interrupted him, stroking a finger along Steve’s cheekbone. “And it’s been a long while since I had a body of my own.”

“Except this body isn’t yours,” Steve growled. “So get out of it.”

There was a surge of angry energy and Jarvis appeared in the room, the air practically shimmering with his fury.

 _Get out,_ the Guide growled, and Steve felt a burst of fear from the intrusive spirit as she fled.

Tony’s body went limp and he faceplanted into Steve’s chest with a groan.

 _I am sorry,_ Captain, Jarvis said, projecting shame. _I was unaware that Master Tony had been compromised._

“Don’t apologize to me,” Steve replied, trying to maneuver the unconscious pile of Tony off of him. “The only person who should be apologizing is Lorraine, and I doubt she’s going to show back up anytime soon.”

Jarvis projected a weary sigh. _Master Tony has been very emotionally fragile as of late,_ he admitted. _I worry he is becoming easier and easier to become possessed by foreign spirits._

Steve winced. “Oh, goody.” He rolled Tony onto his back and positioned him into the empty side of his bed. Lorraine’s possession seemed to have sapped Tony of all of his energy, so he’d probably be out for a while. Good thing the next day was Sunday.

Steve sighed and climbed out of his bed. He was more than willing to take the couch if it meant lessening the blow that would most likely ensue once Tony woke up the next day.

Jarvis sent him a sense of gratitude, most likely thanking Steve for thinking of his charge and caring for him accordingly. He then disappeared into the ether, and Steve covered Tony with his mother’s afghan before leaving him in the dark room to sleep off the spiritual hangover.

Sam didn’t laugh the next day, when Steve told him what had transpired with Lorraine in Tony’s body. In fact, he seemed to have the same concerns as Steve.

“You should have a talk with him, just to be sure he’s going to be okay,” Sam insisted, and Steve didn’t argue. “And it’s a good thing you didn’t act on the proposition.”

Steve shuddered. “Jesus Christ, I--” he broke off whatever he was planning to say next and glared at Sam. “Okay, first of all, what makes you think I would say yes even if it _were_ Tony prepositioning me?”

“Well, for starters, you’re calling him ‘Tony’ like you know him.” Sam smirked, and Bucky, ever-present, chuckled in the back of Steve’s mind. “Second, you have a type. Smart, sassy brunettes who can think you under a table. Peggy, Bernie, Rachel… I know the signs.”

“Redwing thinks you’re being a dick,” Steve grumbled, referring to Sam’s Guide.

“Sure he does,” Sam snorted, getting up from the table and grabbing his dishes. “And Bucky’s agreeing with me.”

 _No point in denying it_ , Bucky said.

There were times when Steve was glad his best friend and his Guide tended to agree on most things regarding Steve. This was not one of them.

“In any case,” Steve glared at Sam. “I _wouldn’t_ , because Tony is a _client._ ”

“True,” Sam said as he began to scrub his dishes and silverware. “If there’s anything that can be said, it is that you are very professional. But what about after the case is over?”

“This case is going to be nasty,” Steve said, and they both sobered up quickly. “I have this feeling that Yinsen is either dead or very close to it.”

“Poor guy,” Sam said quietly. He grabbed a towel from the stove and started drying. “I don’t need to be psychic to be able to tell that whoever did him in is going to be keeping a close eye on Tony.”

“Without a doubt,” Steve agreed. “And I’ve got this feeling that whoever it is, they’re close to the center of all this. They might even have known Howard Stark.”

“That’s…” Sam trailed off as there was a rustling noise in the hallway, and then Tony appeared in the door, clutching Sarah Rogers’ afghan around him and looking like he’d woken up in a dumpster. “Morning,” Sam said to him, while Steve very determinedly did not look at either of them, instead focusing on his plate.

“Mornin’,” Tony answered, sounding utterly beat. “Uh, why did I wake up in a bed?”

“I’ll let Steve explain that,” Sam replied, quickly putting away the dishes. “There’s eggs and sausage. Coffeemaker there, plates there--” he pointed at the cabinet. “Silverware in that drawer. I’m going to… go running.”

Tony stumbled aside as Sam brushed past him to get to his bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. “Okay…”

Steve wanted to disappear as well, but Sam had a point. He sighed and pushed his plate away as Tony shuffled over to the table. He stopped next to Steve, but didn’t sit down. “Um,” Tony said slowly, and Steve finally met his gaze.

Tony’s eyes flicked over to the coffeemaker and back to Steve’s. “Could you pour me some coffee? My hands are shaking something awful, like I’ve got the flu.”

So he hadn’t slept enough. “Sure,” Steve answered, getting to his feet and grabbing his plate. “You want some eggs, too?”

“Nah, I’m not really a breakfast person.” Tony gingerly tried to pull another chair out, and Steve could see he was indeed having trouble keeping his hands steady.

Steve snorted and grabbed a clean plate, depositing his own in the sink. “I’m no doctor, but you need some caloric intake right now.”

“But you _are_ a psychic,” Tony snarked at him, finally managing to get the chair pulled out. He lowered himself carefully down into it.

Steve stepped away from the counter to push him in once it became clear he couldn’t do it himself. He got a grumbled “thanks” for his effort and went back to putting food on a plate. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Little of both, thanks. Please tell me that’s not hazelnut creamer?”

“French Vanilla?”

Tony sighed. “That’s fine. A shot of Baileys would be nice, though.”

Steve rolled his eyes and deposited the loaded plate and coffee mug in front of him. “Eat that,” he ordered.

Tony glared at him, but obligingly poked his eggs with his fork.

They sat for an awkward stretch of silence before Steve finally managed to dredge up enough courage to bring up the previous night. “So last night…”

Tony finally looked back up at him, met his gaze full-on. He waited expectantly, and Steve coughed.

“Last night, you came into my room.”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t remember that. I don’t even remember falling asleep, for that matter.” He jammed the egg-loaded fork into his mouth and muttered around it, “I’ve never sleep-walked before either.”

“Well, it wasn’t really you.” Steve swallowed. “You know how I said that wherever I go, there are always ghosts?”

Tony was staring at him, fork still in his mouth.

“Well, this apartment building is full of ‘em. And one of them decided to… borrow your body.” Steve winced. “It was a female spirit, and she tried to proposition me.”

Tony just kept staring.

“I told her no,” Steve hurried to reassure him. “And Jarvis scared her out of your body. But she sapped your energy so she could keep control, so that’s why you’re tired.”

Tony hadn’t blinked once since Steve had started talking.

“I swear, nothing happened.” Steve felt his face redden something awful. “And Jarvis is worried about you, he says you’re too open, and this might happen again.”

“ _What?!_ ” Tony exploded, spitting out his fork. “No, no, fuck this, no--”

“I can make sure it doesn’t!” Steve talked over him. “Well, Wanda can. There are steps you can take--”

“I can’t stay here,” Tony said at the same time. “I can’t. I mean, I’m grateful you took me in, but I can’t stick around when there’s fucking _ghosts_ trying to possess me!”

“I get the feeling that it doesn’t matter where you go,” Steve confessed. “Your energy is wide open and raw. All the stress and emotional highs and lows of your recent history have pretty much left you like this. You need to get help to manage it, and I really think you should start with Wanda.”

Tony buried his face in his hands. “This can’t be happening… I didn’t ask for any of this, why is this happening to me?”

“It happened to Carol, sort of.”

Tony looked up at him again. “What?”

Steve sighed. “Carol is what we refer to as an energy pump. She just sort of… exudes an excess amount of it. Spirits are attracted to her because of that. She and I met because one such spirit happened to be a demon haunting her apartment.”

“So I’m an energy pump?” Tony demanded.

“No, you’re not. I would have known right away if you were.” Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I have no idea what you are, unless you were always sensitive and repressed it up until now. Emotionally trying times have a tendency to blow sixth senses wide open.”

“Well, I don’t want it blown wide open.” Tony pushed his plate away, even though his hands were still shaking. “Can Wanda help me shut it off?”

“I don’t think that’s--”

“Hey?” Sam came back into the kitchen, wearing his workout clothes and wagging a ringing cell phone. “It’s from your P.A.” He handed it to Tony, gave Steve a meaningful look, then ducked out the front door.

Steve took the moment to rub at his temples, where another stress headache was building up, while Tony answered the phone. “Pep?”

“ _Tony?_ ” Steve heard Pepper’s voice over the line, even though he was across the table. “ _Are you all right? You sound awful--_ ”

“I’ll be fine, Pep. Bad night. What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“ _Tony, the police are here._ ”

Steve and Tony’s eyes met, and Tony put the phone on speaker and set it on the table. “What happened?” he asked shortly, not breaking eye contact.

“ _It… oh, Tony!_ ” Pepper let out a sob. “ _Tony, they found Yinsen’s body._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: possession-induced attempted non-con. AKA a ghost possesses Tony and tries to do the dirty with Steve.
> 
> Also, before you even ask: yes. Jemma Simmons is the Medical Examiner, Leo Fitz is Ballistics, and Skye is the tech wiz probie. I am nothing if not thorough.


	7. I will not be an enemy of anything

When Tony arrived, Steve flanking him, at Stark Industries, there were only two detectives waiting for him with Pepper in his office. The one was Detective May, who had questioned him yesterday. The other was a tall white man with dark hair and eyes, who introduced himself as Detective Ward. “Coulson is with our ME right now,” Ward explained. “He’s also collaborating with our organized crime unit.”

That meant several things, all of which were confirmed with what May said next: “The manner in which he was killed suggested a mafia-style interrogation. Did Mister Yinsen ever have any contact with the major Families of New York?”

Pepper gasped, and Tony closed his eyes. “Not that we knew of.” He shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t, Mister Stark?” May fixed him with a piercing stare and tilted her head slightly, reminding him very much of the way Steve’s redheaded ghost hunter pal had sized him up when he’d first entered the office.

“Why would the mafia be interested in a project from the nineties?” he asked. “That’s what Yinsen was looking up. I asked him to look into something my father was working on when he died, and that’s what’s probably missing from Records.”

Ward was writing, and May merely held his gaze. “You did not mention this to me yesterday,” she said coolly.

“I didn’t see the point,” Tony admitted. “But if Yinsen was targeted and tortured, it stands to reason it was because he was down there looking up what I sent him there for. They interrogated him, for Christ’s sake!” The wheels in his head were already spinning, and the detectives were probably sitting back and letting him do their job for him. “Whoever abducted him has to have had keyed access to that archive, which means this couldn’t have been the mafia, because why would the mafia be interested in clean energy?”

Ward’s eyebrows went up. “You know for sure that’s what Yinsen was looking at?”

“No, he told me himself that clean energy was what my father was working on at the time of the crash.” Tony shook his head. “Oh, god, I _did_ get him killed--”

Steve made a noise behind him, and Tony shot him a sidelong glare. “It’s true!” he insisted.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Mister Stark, please?” May said mildly, recapturing his attention. “I doubt you would have sent him downstairs if you had known what would happen--”

“What, you mean send him to his death?” Tony snapped. “Of course not!”

“Tony--” Pepper whispered. “Tony, calm down.”

He felt his heart pounding in his chest and took a deep breath, trying to slow his breathing. He was still shaky from his “psychic hangover” and the added stress of _a murdered employee_ wasn’t helping. _I have got to figure out what Dad was working on,_ he decided, looking back at Steve. Steve seemed to agree, nodding slightly.

He looked back at the detectives. “My father’s work… I’m almost certain that’s the motive,” he said slowly. May remained impassive, but it appeared Ward was hanging onto his every word. “I need to see if I can find out what it was. Do you think that would help the investigation?”

“Whatever you think we need to know, we’d appreciate it,” May answered.

There were a few other questions, ironing out details of the previous day’s events and so on, and then the detectives took their leave.

As soon as he, Pepper, and Steve were alone in his office, Pepper buried her face in her hands. “The surveillance video footage was tampered with,” she said. “Virus to the security system. They found that out this morning when they first came.”

“Oh, great,” Tony muttered. He looked back at Steve, who was standing at what looked like parade rest by the bookshelf. “Any psychic twinges?” he called.

Steve shook his head. “No ghosts or anything, but when you mentioned your father’s project, I got a definitive yes on that.”

“So your father’s research on clean energy is at the center of all of this,” Pepper said slowly, the way she did when she was trying to hammer out an agreement between difficult negotiators. “What did you find out at the Mansion on Friday?”

Tony winced and flapped a hand at Steve. “You do this, I can’t.”

Steve nodded. “We know for certain that Howard and Maria Stark are in the mansion, as intelligent hauntings. Howard is very protective of his study, and I think the safe in particular.” He started ticking the points off on his fingers. “Someone tried to physically break into the office and the safe, but we showed up and interrupted them. Howard was awakened by the intrusion and chased us out, but only because of Tony’s presence.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Tony demanded.

Steve waved a hand. “Ghost stuff.”

“Okay. Never mind.”

“Anyhow,” Steve went on, pacing, “We know that your father changed the combination to the safe, but he only wants you to be able to access it. From what you’ve told me, he’s pretty adamant that you have to be the one to fix things, whatever they are.”

“Yeah, I get that vibe,” Tony admitted. “He keeps telling me that I’m running out of time.”

“So no pressure,” Pepper said faintly.

Steve nodded. “And we know that your mother wants to help move your father on. She’s contacted us twice--”

“Wait, twice?” Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. “What do you mean? Did you go back there?”

“No,” Steve answered. “But we had those wireless mini-cams recording all night, and she spoke on one of them.”

“What?” both Tony and Pepper exclaimed, eyes wide.

Steve nodded, wincing. “I had audio footage to bring in to you, but Detective Coulson confiscated it yesterday.”

“You said I needed to hear it,” Tony pressed, worrying at his sleeve. “Do you have another copy?”

“Yeah, at the office.”

Tony got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go. Now.”

Pepper and Steve were slow to the take, so Tony was already headed out the door, shrugging into his jacket and running straight into--

Straight into Obie. _Shit._

“Tony?” Obie caught him by the arms and slowed him down, looking him over. “You heard about Yinsen, didn’t you?”

Tony swallowed. “Obie. What are you doing here? It’s a Sunday.” _Even I don’t come in on a Sunday._

“I got a call about Yinsen.” Obie looked at him oddly. “Are you all right? You look sick.”

Tony managed to get his jacket all the way on. “I… I feel sick,” he said, managing to act like he was admitting something difficult. “All this stress is really just… taking its toll on me.” He shrugged. “I was going to head back to Rhodey’s and try to sleep it off.”

Obie patted his shoulder. “You do that, my friend. You deserve it.” He clapped Tony on the arm and peered around him, into his office. “Pepper? Could I get your help with something?”

“Sure thing, Obie,” she answered, brushing lightly past Tony. She leaned in and whispered into his ear: “Stay close to Steve, and let him do whatever he needs to. Don’t get hurt.”

Tony nodded, and she pecked him on the cheek. “Feel better,” she said, loud enough for Obie to hear. “Come on into my office, Obie.”

Once the door was shut behind them, Tony ushered Steve out and into the elevator. “If anyone asks, you’re a P.I.”

Steve looked amused as the elevator doors shut in front of them. “I am. Paranormal Investigator.”

Tony snorted weakly and swatted at his arm. “Not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I have a shitty sense of humor. Ask anyone I’ve pranked for April Fools.” Thor and Jane down in R&D could attest to that. Luckily, Thor had a good sense of humor and a way of making Jane loosen up. He was also the only one who could withstand Bruce’s temper tantrums. Tony liked Thor.

The elevator dinged and they made their way out into the lobby, Tony already gesturing at Happy. “We need to go to his office,” Tony said.

Happy nodded. “Right. I’ll get the car.” He started to turn and head out to the garage, but he stopped and looked at them pleadingly. “Do I have to go in?”

Tony snorted again and Steve shook his head.

Happy beamed and left to get the car.

“I shouldn’t let him know that there are literally ghosts everywhere we go, should I?” Steve muttered out of the side of his mouth.

Tony smirked. “Nah, ignorance is bliss.”

 

Wanda was with a client when they got into the office, so Steve just brushed past the redhead, who gave them a questioning look, and led the way into his space. He opened up the laptop and called out to the atrium, “Nat, did you put all the evidence into the cloud?”

“It’s uploaded.” She poked her head in and took in the sight of Tony leaning over Steve, trying to get a look at the laptop, and raised her eyebrows. “You still haven’t shown it to him?”

Tony looked up at her and waggled his eyebrows.“Haven’t had time. There was a murder.”

Her own eyebrows went up. “I expect an explanation when this is over,” she warned, backing out into the hallway again.

“Sure thing,” he yelled after her, pulling up the office’s cloud account and finding the audio clip. “Just warning you,” he told Tony, “It’s your mother.”

Tony closed his eyes and steeled himself. “Play it.”

Steve tapped the spacebar and the audio clip started with a long second of silence, and then…

“ _Happy birthday to you_ ,” his long-dead mother crooned, just the way she used to when she and Howard would get home late on Tony’s birthday and he was already in bed. He always woke up when she sang to him, would always wish she’d do it when the sun was up and there was a cake in front of him and she could sing louder, so she didn’t disturb Howard.

“ _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you… happy birthday dear Tony…_ ”

“Fuck,” Tony breathed, and he was embarrassed to realize tears were leaking out of his eyes.

“Was it your birthday recently?” Steve asked, and Tony jerked in surprise; he’d forgotten the other man was there.

Tony hastily scrubbed his face, and Steve politely looked away as he did. “Uh, no,” he finally answered, then frowned. “My birthday is in April.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “She seemed aware enough to me. Why was she singing ‘Happy Birthday’ months after the fact?”

Tony thought about it. “You know,” he said slowly. “That would make an awfully good code for a safe.”

“I thought you and your father had a strained relationship?”

“And that would be enough to fool anyone trying to break into the safe!” Tony started pacing, feeling the tingling in his fingertips that meant his brain was racing faster than he could really process until after he’d reached his conclusion. “Oh my god, I have to try this as a combination.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Steve said, looking tormented. Tony stopped moving and stared at him as he seemed to come to a conclusion. He was probably talking to the multitude of voices in his head. “Everyone is agreeing with me,” he finally confirmed, and Tony was getting really sick of all the dead people having more of a say in this than him.

“Well everyone needs to butt out and mind their own business!” Tony snapped, and Steve flinched.

“You don’t understand,” Steve insisted. “Everybody-- Jarvis is even saying it--”

“Jarvis is a _ghost,_ ” Tony jabbed a finger at him. “And up until recently, I thought he was nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Look, I got a man killed. _Killed._ I have to know what for, or else there’s no point to any of this.”

“Tony, there won’t be a point if something happens to you--”

“I don’t need to listen to this,” Tony groused, grabbing his jacket off the chair he’d tossed it onto and storming out of the office. The redhead didn’t even stop him on his way out.

 

 _Stop him!_ Bucky yelled in his ear. _Stop him, this is a bad idea!_

“He makes his own damn choices,” Steve answered.

“Steve?”

Natasha tapped at the door, and only stepped inside once Steve waved her in. “Why did Stark just leave? He looked pretty pissed.” She looked at the laptop, still open. “Did you play the soundbite?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t like it?” Natasha prodded, and Steve sank into his chair and let his forehead _thunk_ onto his desk.

“It gave him a breakthrough. He’s on his way to test it out.”

Natasha was silent, and that was never a good thing. Steve raised his head to get a look at her, and was rewarded with the blankest poker face he’d ever seen.

 _Shit_ , Bucky said in his mind. Even in death, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was terrified of Natasha Romanoff. That would never fail to crack Steve up.

Except now. “Nat,” he said tiredly, not interested in her silent routine. “Tony Stark is a grown man who can decide for himself what he wants to do with our evidence. We’ve done our bit.”

“You haven’t resolved the haunting,” she pointed out. “And what’s this about a murder?”

Steve winced. “One of his employees was found dead this morning. Tony thinks it’s his fault, since he’d sent the man into the archives to look up the project that I think Howard is guarding.”

“So you, as usual, tried to keep him from rushing off and investigating,” Natasha guessed. “And he asserted himself.”

“Pretty much.”

“Steve.” Natasha fixed him with one of her patented “you’re being dumber than usual” looks. “Steve, there is a murderer out there, killing anyone with a connection to that project. And a powerful ghost in that house.”

Steve’s wince became a full-on guilt trip. “Fine,” he muttered, getting up. “But if you don’t hear from me in an hour, send in the cavalry.” He dug in his pocket and handed Natasha the card that had Detective Coulson’s contact information on it.

Natasha took Coulson’s card from him and shoved one of the digital cameras into his hand. “Get us some footage for the website.” She winked. “And when this is over, get laid. Please.”

Steve scowled at her and safely stowed the camerabag under his arm before he took off after his client.

 

Tony, in hindsight, should probably have closed the gate behind him. Also in hindsight, it probably wouldn’t have done any good.

He hesitated at the threshold of the Mansion, biting at his thumbnail. “Shit,” he said aloud. This had been a lot simpler when he’d been caught up in the moment, at Steve’s office. “Shit.”

He most assuredly did not see the curtains in the study’s window move, as if disturbed by an unseen occupant.

“Shit,” he backed away from the door, pivoting on his heel and pacing onto the lawn. “Shit, shit, shit.” The panic that he’d been feeling all week as a low-grade smoldering in his gut became a full-blown t _hing_ , twisting up his insides and making him want to collapse to his knees and breathe unevenly and--

There was the sound of gravel crunching, and Tony turned to see the ghost hunters’ van pull up the drive. The black van rolled to a stop behind his car - Happy had flatly refused to go anywhere the Mansion and had demanded to be dropped off at his and Pepper’s apartment building on the way - and Steve got out, looking a bit grumpy.

Tony didn’t say anything as the ghost hunter drew even with him, not making eye contact. Instead, Steve regarded the seemingly empty house and sighed heavily.

“Look,” Steve said finally, turning to him and holding his gaze. “Every instinct I have is telling me we need to not go charging in on this.”

Now that he was _here_ , facing his childhood home, Tony could see why. “Yeah. I kind of… I kind of get that.” He chewed on the hangnail again, and tasted blood. “Fuck.”

Steve frowned. “Let’s just go and try to make contact again,” he suggested mildly, like he was trying not to anger Tony again.

Tony ducked his head in slight shame. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “I… I shouldn’t have flipped out at you earlier. I know client safety is a high priority for you--”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “I… I don’t like it when people get hurt. Yeah, you’re a client, but still. This whole case has been a nightmare, compared to most of my others. Well, there was that one case with the ghost of Johann Schmidt--”

“What?” Tony stared at him. “Say that again.”

“Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull of ‘43.”

“You ran into him?”

“I had to exorcise him.” Steve’s face took on a pained expression. “That wasn’t fun. At least no one died on that one, though.”

“So you see why I have to do this,” Tony said, glancing up at the window again.

“I do. And everyone is telling me to throw you in the trunk of the van and cart you to Jersey, but if you’re set on this--”

“Why the fuck would you want to go to Jersey? That place smells like feet. And failure. Snooki lives in Jersey. Fuck that.” Tony was nervous, for sure, but he practically had to shove a fist in his mouth to keep himself from babbling.

But it worked. Steve snorted, then doubled over laughing. “That’s what you focus on?” he gasped, tears leaking out of his eyes. “Not the killer or the fact that your father is a hostile ghost?”

“This is New York. If your life isn’t threatened on the subway, you haven’t lived.”

Steve wiped his face. “My god, what is wrong with you?”

“You already know my malfunctions,” Tony grumbled. “We doing this or not?”

Steve looked at the door and did the head-tilt-like-a-labrador thing again. “This is going to be dangerous,” he said at last. “But we also have the chance to get some answers. I’m gonna go ahead and call it worth it.”

Tony nodded. “Okay. You set?”

Steve dug in his bag and pulled out a small handheld camcorder. “For the website,” he explained as Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Ah.”

“Okay. Ready. let’s go.”

Tony wordlessly unlocked the front door and gestured for Steve to proceed. The ghost hunter squinted at his camera’s viewfinder and stepped in. Tony followed, making sure to lock the door behind him.

“I want to go in your old room first,” Steve whispered loudly. Tony wasn’t surprised; the oppressive silence of the house hung around them like a thick blanket. “I get the feeling your mom wants to talk some more.”

Tony shuddered. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to deal with that.”

“Then you let me handle it. That is my job.” Steve smiled slightly at him, and Tony felt something akin to a not-heart-attack fluttery sensation in his chest area. He decided to file that away for later - or better, ignore it. Entirely.

Tony nodded at the staircase. “Lead the way, Captain Ghostbuster.”

“Okay, let’s cut it out with that nickname,” Steve grumbled.

Tony grinned at him. “Oh, does it bug you?”

“A little, yes.”

“What, is Carol the only one allowed to call you that?”

Steve’s forehead actually twitched. “Even she’s wearing it out.”

Tony actually laughed loud enough that it echoed in the empty, hardwood halls. “That’s adorable,” he chortled, actually _chortled_ , and patted Steve’s arm. “Now I have to call you that.”

“This is going to be a long case,” Steve muttered.

 

The door to Tony’s old bedroom was slightly ajar when they first started towards it, but as they approached, it swung open.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered, and Steve chuckled.

“Don’t say that in front of your mother.”

Tony grabbed Steve’s arm and shook it. “Is she in there?”

“She’s close.”

Tony’s eyes were so wide, for a second he was convinced they’d pop out of his head. He managed to keep himself from swearing again.

Steve nodded at the obvious invitation. “C’mon, let’s see what she wants.”

“I’m not so sure about this now that it’s time to execute this plan.” But he followed Steve into the room and openly shuddered as he stepped into a veritable icebox. For a second, he could even see his breath in the air. “Why is it so cold in here?” he asked through chattering teeth.

Steve didn’t seem affected by it. “She’s drawing the energy from the heat of the room. That’s how she’s able to make herself known.”

There was a knock in the walls, and Tony jumped. He jumped again when something skidded off of his childhood desk and fell onto the carpeted floor.

“W-what was that?”

Steve bent down and picked the object up. “It’s my minicam. Huh.” He turned it around in his hands, clearly checking it for damage, before he stood up and looked around the room again. “She’s not talking to me.”

“Was that h-her?” Tony asked, chafing his arms.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that was definitely her energy, but she’s not here anymore.” His forehead was wrinkled again. “She left as soon as she pushed this over.”

“Saving her energy?” Tony ventured, stepping back towards the door. “If she’s not in here, there’s no point staying.”

“No,” Steve agreed, pocketing the minicam. “I guess you’re right. Let’s go crack that safe.”

“Right. Great. If my dad shows up, hold him off.” Tony ignored the sinking, sick feeling in his stomach at the prospect of encountering his dead father again.

Steve nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

 

Steve gave the all-clear before they shouldered the study doors open, Tony again noticing the plunging room temperatures.

“I guess my dad’s been active?” he guessed as their eyes adjusted to the dusky darkness.

They stood in stunned silence as they took in the room. The mess of Friday had been replaced by some semblance of neatness, even though Tony had made sure that the codes and locks to the various entrances to the mansion and grounds had been changed.

“Well, I’ll say this; even in death, his organizational skills leave a lot to be desired,” Tony said, prodding a haphazard stack of papers with his toe.

Steve laughed shortly, then closed his door in order to reveal the painting that the safe was hidden behind. “Okay, I can feel him waking up. Quick, let’s get this down so you can do the combination.”

They both moved to take either side of the painting, and the mincam clattered out of Steve’s pocket. “Whoops,” he muttered, stooping down to pick it up. “Nat will kill me if I break another one.”

“I can fix it for you,” Tony said. “I’ll fix it for free if we can figure this fucking mystery out.”

Steve laughed again, and set the minicam down on the desk.

Tony squinted at it. “Is that thing still broadcasting?”

“Probably. It’s programmed to turn off when there’s no activity. Plus, the batteries are StarkTech.” Steve winked at him before rejoining him at the painting.

“Okay,” Tony said. They both grasped the frame and steeled themselves.

“One,” Steve flexed his admittedly impressive shoulders.

“Two,” Tony steadied himself, kept his center of balance low.

“Three--” they both wheezed as they pulled the painting in its heavy frame off the wall. They staggered back and quickly set it down underneath the revealed safe.

“How the fuck did my dad’s ghost get that back up?” Tony wondered, clutching at his chest.

“You alright?” Steve asked, grasping his arm. Tony waved him off and took a breather, and Steve backed down.

“Let me,” Tony narrowed his eyes and peered closely at the safe lock. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and slowly began to turn the lock.

Steve shifted from one foot to the other behind him, making the floorboards creak. “We’re not alone,” he said ominously.

“Just gimme a minute.” _Three turns left, 04_ he thought, crossing his fingers. _Two turns right, 26. One turn left, 76._

There was a thunk as the lock disengaged, and Tony crowed in victory. “Got it!”

Steve didn’t say anything as Tony dug into the safe and pulled out a thick file, fat with countless papers and what looked like schematics dating back to the _sixties_ , when his father had first started SI. “My god,” Tony said, flipping through them.

“What?” Steve breathed, peering over his shoulder. “What, what is it? I have no idea what this all means, you have to explain to me--”

“This is a sustainable energy source that makes those Stark batteries look like a hamster in a wheel.” Tony couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “This is amazing! And--” he glanced at Steve, grinning. “I can figure it all out! This is plausible, and I can make it work! We did it!”

“Oh, thank God,” Steve said, then he froze. “Your dad--” he looked at Tony, wide-eyed. “He’s pissed. He’s really _pissed_ \--”

“That’s interesting,” said a familiar voice from the doorway. “Seeing as he’s kind of dead.”

Steve and Tony both jumped in surprise as Obadiah Stane pushed the door open again and swaggered in, hands shoved in his suit jacket’s pockets.

Tony blinked. “Obie?”

“Tony, Tony, Tony, why couldn’t you have just kept out of this?” Obadiah tutted, shaking his head in disappointment. “You were always too curious for your own good. If only you’d just stayed in California and kept on partying your life away, you might’ve kept on having a life at all.”

That didn’t--

Tony could only stare in shock and terror as Obadiah stepped aside and revealed Detective Grant Ward, expertly wielding a handgun that was most likely not NYPD-regulation.

Obie laughed, and not nicely. “Well, this is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” The smile dropped off his face, making him look ten years older and ten times more menacing. “Now hand over your father’s files and maybe I’ll make your deaths quick and painless.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, the Organized Crime unit? Headed by Victoria Hand and includes Jasper Sitwell. I'll just leave this here. ;)~


	8. I dream of Michelangelo

Steve had stared down the barrel of an enemy’s gun more times than he cared to count, but somehow this one seemed to overshadow all of the rest. “Tony?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Obie--” Tony started to say, but the older man cut him off.

“I thought I made myself clear, Tony. Hand over that file. You’re not walking out of here with it.”

“Obie, what the hell is going on?” Tony demanded, and Steve wanted to shake him out of his daze. Something had felt off about Obadiah Stane, ever since he’d shown up outside Tony’s office that morning.

“I should think it would be obvious, especially to a genius like you.” Stane actually sneered, and Steve felt Tony flinch.

 _Told you not to come,_ Bucky muttered. _They wouldn’t have gotten to the safe, you idiot._

 _Stop helping and start **helping**!_ Steve replied, frantic.

_I’m working on it!_

“I should probably thank you for figuring out the combination. What was it, by the way?” Stane looked at Steve and dismissed him with a flick of the eyes. Detective Ward, however, held the gun steady on them. Steve had taken one look at him, sitting in Tony’s office, and guessed former military, possibly special operations. The way he held his gun, which Steve estimated was most likely a standard issue for the armed forces (he couldn’t see much other than the _muzzle_ ) just confirmed it.

His stance also said, loud and clear, that he would shoot them down easily and with no remorse. _Tread carefully,_ his instincts screamed.

“What does it matter?” Tony demanded, clutching the file to his chest. “Why do you want this?”

Like a memory, Steve was struck with a mental image. Howard, still living, pacing in front of the desk. Stane, much younger, sitting in the wingback.

_Don’t be selfish… You don’t always make your best decisions when you’re drunk…_

“You!” Steve realized. “You were the one all along?”

Stane glared at him, and Tony faltered. “What?” he gasped. “I-- I don’t-- I don’t understand--”

“You’re the cause of this! You’re the intruder Howard Stark was angry about!” Steve tugged on Tony’s jacket, trying to edge him back towards the safe -- with its feasibly _bulletproof door._

Ward’s gun tracked him, and he froze as his lizard brain shrieked at him to stay still.

Stane’s eyes narrowed. “Howard Stark is dead.”

“Yeah, but he’s still around,” Steve answered, praying that Howard’s ghost was just taking so long so he could gather up energy. The room temperature was dropping, so that was a good sign.

“A ghost hunter. You hired a ghost hunter.” Stane laughed nastily, and Tony’s body thrummed with poorly-contained tension. “Good grief, California really fucked you up, didn’t it?”

Tony seemed to be too in shock to do much other than open and close his mouth, no sound coming out.

 _Steve, this is bad,_ Bucky said.

 _No shit!_ Steve shot back.

_Stark is compromised, Steve. You need to be careful._

_Compromised?_ Steve asked, but then Stane snapped at Ward, who glanced at him.

“Just shoot the ghost hunter,” Stane ordered. “We’ll see if we can reason with Mister Stark after that.”

Steve felt it then: Howard entered the room, his fury almost palpable, his energy thrumming.

The file folder dropped to the floor as Tony’s entire body shook. Steve could sense the exact moment that Howard forced his will and his way into his son’s body and took control. The dead man held himself differently from Tony, from the straight spine to the spacing of the feet. There were similarities between father and son, but it was the expression that gave it away.

“Oh, Obadiah,” Howard sneered, suddenly surging forward to grab Stane by the collar and yank him forward. “Come back to finish off the job, eh?”

Ward reacted quickly to the attack, but Bucky was faster. The door swung like someone had shoved it and knocked him in the shoulder, enough to surprise him so that Steve could jump him and make a grab for the gun, making sure not to get into the line of fire.

Meanwhile, Howard had Stane shoved up against the bookcase, accompanied by the sounds of tinkling glass and books thudding to the ground.

“You tried to have me _killed_!” Howard roared in Stane’s face, making the other man grimace and turn his face away. “You killed my _wife_! She had nothing to do with it, but I suppose it was just _convenient_. How much did it cost you to get the mob to make it look like an accident? How much did it cost you to get this kid here?” Howard jerked his chin at Ward, still struggling on the floor with Steve. “You rode my coattails for _years_ , Stane! I was such a fool, to never see the snake in the grass, but I can see clearly now. A brush with death does that to a man, don’t you know.”

Stane’s face went white. “H-H-Howard--”

Steve managed to throw Ward off balance, but the gun went off a scant few inches away from his head. The bullet embedded itself in the floorboards as Steve managed to twist Ward’s arm away, cracking the detective’s wrist back and snatching the gun from him. He hit Ward hard in the face with the butt of the gun, dazing him, and threw him off. Ward tried to scramble back, but Steve whipped him on the back of the head, knocking him out.

The front door crashed open and someone shouted “ _Police!!_ ” downstairs, but Steve was too busy pulling the clip out of the gun and tossing it aside. As the police cleared the house, Steve turned back to Stane.

And Howard Stark.

“You don’t get this,” Howard hissed, as Stane shook in what Steve wanted to believe was fear. “You don’t get my legacy. _You don’t get anything_.” He slammed Stane against the bookcase, cracking his head on a shelf. Stane’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped forward in unconsciousness.

Howard stepped back from his former business partner, his face twisted in disgust.

“Howard?” Steve tried, and the ghost snapped Tony’s head up to regard him. “Mister Stark?”

“You…” Howard tilted his head, looking him over. “You’re the one that was here before…”

“I’m here with your son, Mister Stark,” Steve said slowly, raising hands to show he was unarmed. “We came here to find out why you weren’t at rest.”

Howard laughed. “How can I rest, son? I’m the only competent man around, clearly.”

“Mister Stark,” Steve felt his heart began to pound. He refused to acknowledge it, or the fact that icy fear was starting to thread through his veins. “You’re dead. You’ve been dead for the past twenty years or so.”

“Nonsense!” Howard waved him off. “I feel fine! Could use a drink, even,” he muttered, turning towards the minibar.

“Don’t!” Steve snapped.

Howard looked at him, no longer genial. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, buddy,” he growled.

“It’s not your house anymore!” Steve barely kept himself from shouting. “It’s your son’s! You’re _dead_!”

“I told you, I feel fine!” Howard yelled at him. “You’re crazy, that’s what you are!”

Steve was at a loss. Tony didn’t seem to be conscious, or conscious enough to fight for control of his body. _What do I do?_ he yelled soundlessly, at Bucky, at Jarvis, at whoever was close enough to hear--

 _Nothing, dear Captain,_ a female voice answered, gently brushing him. _I can handle my husband. Might I borrow your form for a minute?_

Steve hesitated. He’d never done it before, even though Wanda had reassured him that he could.

Maria Stark was amused at his hesitation. _I’ll give it right back,_ she promised.

Steve looked at Howard, still furious and still in his son’s body. _Do it._

 

There was a moment of haziness, and then it was like Steve had stepped back and was viewing it from the outside. _Outside of his body._

Where Tony had stood before, another man had taken his place. Howard Stark, almost in the flesh. The resemblance was uncanny.

Where Steve had been standing, a dark-haired, slender woman. She had Tony’s eyes and chin, the same graceful hands and thin wrists. She held herself with the same easy bearing.

Maria stepped forward, borrowing Steve’s physical presence, and took Howard’s hands. “Howard,” she said softly. “Howard, it’s time to go.”

Howard’s eyes widened. “Maria?”

She smiled sadly. “We’re done here. He can finish what you started all those years ago, darling,” she murmured.

“Tony?” Howard shook his head. “He’s just a boy, Maria. He couldn’t--”

“He’s not a boy anymore, Howard.” Maria nodded at the window, and Steve saw the brightest light he’d ever witnessed. “He’s ready. We need to let him go.”

“But…” Howard stared at the light, clearly torn. “But there’s so much more to do--”

“Let him do it, love,” Maria took Howard’s chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. “We need to let him step out of our shadows. It’s his time now, not ours.”

Howard’s eyes grew misty. “We both died,” he said sadly.

“Yes.”

Howard closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “I guess dying isn’t so bad, if I get to stay with you.”

She squeezed his hand. “Let him go, Howard.”

“All right.”

They both began to fade, and Steve snapped back into his body. Suddenly, it felt like every muscle had turned to jello as he struggled to stay upright and catch Tony as he fell forward. Steve collapsed against the desk, Tony in his arms, and the last thing he saw before he blacked out, before Coulson kicked the door in and cleared the room, was Howard and Maria walking hand-in-hand into the light.

 

Captain Nicholas Fury regarded his top detective interrogating one of the most influential and powerful businessmen in Manhattan, flanked on the other side of the one-way mirror by Lieutenant Maria Hill.

“The evidence isn’t enough,” Hill said blandly, crossing her arms. “Even with the investigation firm’s cooperation, we still can’t explain in court what happened on that tape.”

Fury sighed. “Sometimes, it sucks to have those special gifts,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Those hunches, little nudges, little birdies telling you things.” Fury stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You can do the right thing, that you _know_ is right, but the law doesn’t see it that way.”

Hill remembered, belatedly, that one of the many rumors surrounding her superior officer was that God Himself whispered in Fury’s ear. “You can only just do the best you can,” she said evenly. “Justify everything you do. And sometimes, just damn the consequences.”

Fury nodded, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “True. Good point, Lieutenant Hill.”

Inside the interrogation room, Stane was protesting his innocence, gesticulating wildly. He couldn’t have been the one to kill Ho Yinsen, because he “was having a heart-to-heart with my protogè, on the _top floor of the building_.” He jabbed a finger at Coulson, who merely listened in stony silence.

“See, it’s funny, Mister Stane,” Coulson finally said blandly, his face still neutral. “While you and Mister Stark were having that heart-to-heart in his office, on the _top floor of the building_ , your code was entered into the archives vault that Mister Yinsen was abducted from. And, stranger - convenient, even - the security footage of that area of the building seems to have been corrupted. You forgot to mess with the cameras around Stark’s office, so we have you confirmed in that location, with a timestamp and everything. And our probie is an absolute technical marvel, to be honest. She managed to reconstruct a bit of data from what we recovered, even with that virus, and the figure in the video - even if his face is unclear - is definitely not you.” He leaned forward, and his expression hadn’t changed at all, but the utter level of menacing and danger rose to all-out boiling point. “Pretty good work on that alibi, Mister Stane. Too bad the keypad was separate from the other security systems and didn’t get wiped.”

“Hah!” Fury laughed. He sobered instantly. “We can’t get a positive identification on Detective Ward with that tape, can we?”

“He threatened with the intent to kill Mister Stark and Captain Rogers, aided Stane in breaking and entering, and was in possession of the gun that most likely killed Ho Yinsen,” Maria answered. “Fitz is still working on the ballistics, but from preliminary looks, it’s the same weapon.” Her mouth flattened into a tight line. “I can’t believe it. I approved Ward myself.”

“I wonder how many policemen are in the mob’s pocket in this district alone. We might have to clean house soon,” Fury mused without any humor in his voice. “...If Stane implicates Detective Ward, that is.”

And of course, after a few more minutes with Coulson - and, eventually, May - he did.

 

Tony woke up.

He sat up slowly, gingerly testing his extremities. “Jesus fuck,” he groaned, tugging one arm and realizing he had a saline drip in it. “Not again.”

He was in a hospital, from the looks of it. It smelled like industrial-strength cleaner and was the same sort of muffled quiet that came with a building full of sick and injured people.

“Well, look who’s back in the land of the living!” Rhodey poked his head in, and grinned widely at Tony. “You had us worried, Tones.”

Pepper appeared and rushed around Rhodey, carefully sweeping Tony up in a gentle embrace. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, squeezing him. Happy and Rhodey joined her at Tony’s bedside. “When we got the call, we didn’t know what to think--”

“Pep--” Tony blinked. “Wait, where’s Steve?”

“He’s already checked out,” Happy answered. “Woke up before you did.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just about seven or eight hours.” Rhodey smirked at him. “I think this is the longest you’ve slept since this whole thing began.”

Tony slumped back against his pillows and pouted. “I blacked out after Obie showed up--” He sat up again, causing the bed to creak loudly. “Obie--!”

“Shush, Tony, shhh,” Pepper soothed him. “Obadiah’s in police custody. Detective Coulson and Detective May arrested him and Grant Ward.”

“The camera. Steve’s minicam, the one on the desk.” Tony tried to get his thoughts in order. “It was recording the whole time.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey nodded. “Natasha Romanoff turned it over to police evidence right away, once she realized it was broadcasting. They have the whole thing on tape. Well, the important bits, anyway.”

“The police captain says Obie’s probably going to confess,” Happy added. “So no one will have to see the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“We haven’t seen it,” Pepper reassured him. “Steve said you wouldn’t want us to. He said something about your father showing up.”

Tony let his eyes close, feeling weary all of a sudden. “Yeah, something like that.” He didn’t remember it, but he thought he’d heard his father’s voice from a long way off before he’d been knocked out. And, to be honest, he’d rather see what happened for himself before anyone else got to look. “Where’s Steve at?”

“Giving his statement to the police.” Pepper brushed his hair off of his forehead. “They’ll be wanting your statement too, from what we’re guessing.”

“Yeah, probably.” Tony cracked his neck and started to push himself out of bed, but Happy and Rhodey pushed him back down. “Can I at least put on some actual clothes?” Tony groused, and Pepper snorted and handed him her bag.

“There’s pants for you in there,” she informed him. “Get yourself decent, but don’t take out that IV. Your electrolytes were very low.”

Tony nodded, not intent on crossing her or any doctors’ orders. “Got it.”

She pecked a kiss on his cheek, Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder, and they left him to pull on the sweatpants they’d brought him.

Tony closed his eyes and sighed.

“I guess I brought this all on you, didn’t I?”

His eyes snapped open and he only barely kept himself from scrambling away from--

From the fully-formed apparition of his father, standing at the foot of his bed.

“Dad,” Tony croaked. “How--”

Howard smiled stiffly. “I had to… I couldn’t leave things as they were, when I.” He looked Tony in the eye. “When I _died_.”

Tony didn’t answer, so Howard kept talking.

“Look, I have a lot of regrets. I made a lot of mistakes. I’m man enough to admit that.” He made his way around the bed, and Tony swore that the temperature of the room was actually going _up_. “I was cruel to you, in life,” Howard said quietly. “And that is unacceptable. I’m sorry, son.”

Tony swallowed. “Dad…”

“You’ve got a long life ahead of you, understand.” Howard nodded at the bedside table, where his precious file was sitting. “Make the best of it. And your mother wants you to love, as much as you can.” He smiled, and it no longer had any edge to it. “Enjoy the ride, my boy. It’s totally worth it.”

He faded away in the dying sunlight, and Tony was left alone once more, fighting the urge to sob aloud. To distract himself, Tony tugged the file onto his lap and flipped it open again.

Again, the sheer creativity and meticulousness of his father’s work stunned him. “God, Dad,” he breathed as he scanned the schematics for a new large-scale energy generator. “What a legacy.”

He paused, feeling a stab of regret for all the bloodshed that had brought him to this point.

 _I’m finishing this for you, Dad,_ he decided. _For you and Yinsen. I owe you that much, old man._

 

A week later, Natasha skipped into Steve’s office and dropped an envelope onto his desk. She was smirking.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her and ripped the envelope open. “It’s from Tony Stark,” he reported. “But you already know that.”

Natasha merely smiled at him, and Steve rolled his eyes. He pulled the cheque free and waved it at her. “Go ahead.”

She snatched it out of his hands and scanned the amount line. “Holy shit.”

Steve frowned and took it back from her. He looked it over and felt his mouth drop open. “That… that’s not what we agreed on--”

“That’s an extra zero, too!” Natasha’s eyes shimmered. “We’ll be able to upgrade the camcorders! We might be able to fix the van!”

“We can’t accept this,” Steve insisted. “We just can’t.”

“Steve, Stark is paying you for more than ghostbusting.” Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him.

Steve blushed furiously. “Take that and take care of it,” he said, shoving the cheque back at her.

She patted him on the head and practically danced out of the office.

Steve fought the urge to curl up under his desk and sulk, but he made himself unfold the letter enclosed.

 _Steve,_ it read:

_You have no idea what you managed to do for me last week. There aren’t words to express what you’ve brought to me, but I’m hoping a few small actions will express my gratitude. We have begun construction of my father’s magnum opus, a full-size Arc Reactor. I’d like you to be there when we cut the ribbon and declare it operational. And consider every piece of tech you possess to be under an unlimited Stark warranty. It’s the least I can do._

_\- Tony Stark_

Steve stared at the letter, then breathed out a long sigh. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. “Some big change in the wind,” he said to Bucky.

 _Oh ye of little faith,_ Bucky simpered back at him.

Steve flipped his Guide off and went back to his work on the website. The letter went into his desk, and he tried to put his most recent client out of his mind.

 

“I don’t get it,” Rhodey said, exasperated. “Your house is cleared out of ghosts, and your white ass is still parked on my pullout. Explain to me why you’re not willing to move back into the mansion?”

“I already told you, it’s too quiet.” Tony stuck his tongue out at his best friend. “Now that my parents are gone, the place is empty and all echo-y and stuff.”

Rhodey threw his hands up in the air. “I give up. You wanna bunk here? You pay rent.” He glared at Tony, then stalked away. Probably to the kitchen.

Tony snorted and drew the quilt around his shoulders. He made a face when the ringing in his ears started up again. What was causing that? If it kept up, he’d have to go see a doctor or something, ugh.

_\--aster Ton--_

Tony froze, eyes wide, as the familiar voice popped into his mind.

_\--ster Tony--_

_Master Tony?_

“Jarvis?” Tony said aloud, shock warring with panic in his chest.

 _You can hear me?_ Jarvis asked, amused. _Finally._

Tony scrambled off the cot and found himself backing into the nearest wall with a bang. He looked around wildly, but he couldn’t see anything.

 _Master Tony, you’re making a fuss,_ Jarvis scolded. _Don’t frighten Master Rhodes._

“Tony?” Rhodey reappeared in the doorway, radiating tangible concern. And Tony could feel it. “What’s wrong?”

Tony looked at his best friend and _literally felt_ every emotion crossing Rhodey’s mind, from confusion, worry, and exasperation. Worry featured the most prominently, and--

 _\--s he having some kind of episode?_ Rhodey’s voice wondered in Tony’s head. _Jesus fuck, is this PTSD or something?_

“Oh my god,” Tony said faintly, sinking to the floor. “Oh my god.”

 

Pepper buzzed his phone, and, distracted, Tony picked up. One thing he’d learned pretty quickly, it didn’t matter if the person was physically present or not. He was able to pick up everything, even from a text or an email. So, there was no use avoiding human contact. The voices persisted, and they were proving useful in the business world. “Yeah, Pep?”

“There’s someone here to see you.” She hesitated, and Tony picked up on her apprehension. _Do I tell him?_ she wondered, and then _fuck it, he probably can tell already._ “It’s Rumiko.”

Tony felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Um.” He swallowed. “I guess you can send her in.”

“Okay.” _Will he be all right?_

Tony rubbed at his temples. “I’ll be fine, Pep,” he promised quietly.

 _I’m right out here._ “Okay, Tony.”

The door clicked open, and she came in, smiling.

Tony got to his feet and, no words said, they embraced for the first time in over a year.

“It’s so good to see you,” Ru murmured, hugging him tightly. “You look so much better.”

He hugged her back. “Oh, Ru.” He buried his nose in her hair. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She laughed, a bright tinkling noise that never failed to raise his spirits. Pun not intended. “I’ll bet,” she teased. “I walk out of your life, and suddenly everything goes to hell!”

Tony smiled. “Well, yeah. I was always a mess without someone kicking my ass, and you did it best.”

Ru held his hand and regarded him, tilting her head. “Wanna get lunch?”

Right on cue, his stomach rumbled. “I guess so,” he said over her giggles.

She took him to a small bistro a few blocks away, and soon they were trading stories. Tony noticed she was carefully avoiding talking about the last month’s events.

When it came time to pay the bill, she looked at him over the rim of her glass. “You’re different,” she said, sipping at her water. “Much more zen.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You think so?”

Ru snorted. “Well, okay, no. Maybe not. More like… you’re in a good place. You’re at peace.” She patted his hand. “That’s good.”

Strangely, Tony didn’t feel anything other than fondness and contentedness. He grasped her smaller hand in his and concentrated, but the spark that had once been between them was gone. Even to his new senses. “Ru--”

“No, you don’t have to say it.” She squeezed his hand. “Our time is past. It’s all right,” she said. “You’ve become a person I’m happy to have in my life, even if you’re just a friend.” She stroked her thumb over his, like she used to when they were together. “Can we just hang out sometime? Get away from all this dull business and political nonsense?”

Tony smiled easily, genuinely at her. “I’d like that.”

 

Steve’s head jerked up when the phone on his desk rang. He frowned; calls to the office were routed through Natasha’s phone up front. Very few people had access to his office’s private number.

He picked up and cleared his throat. “This is Steve Rogers, may I ask who’s calling?”

“Hey. Steve.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “Tony.” He struggled to keep his voice even. Over a month since the incident and the only communication they’d had was that letter. “Hey. How are things?”

Tony coughed. “Good. Things are good.”

“The mansion? Is it still… you know…?”

“Yeah, the mansion’s fine. Mom and Dad’re long gone.”

There was an awkward silence, and Bucky’s smugness was becoming unbearable, so Steve pressed on. “So is there something else you need?”

“Well,” Tony sounded embarrassed. “This is going to sound stupid, but…” he sighed. “I’ve been hearing voices. And they’re not schizophrenia voices or anything, they belong to people actually alive and stuff, and some dead. And they’re usually right.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wow.”

 _Wow,_ Bucky agreed. _Full-blown sensitive. Who’d’ve guessed?_

 _You little shit,_ Steve said to him.

“Um, I can hear that,” Tony said, and Steve was startled into laughter.

“Yeah, so, um.” Tony let out a long sigh. “Is there a way I can turn it off? Because I will admit it’s useful and stuff, but I can’t be on all the time and sooner or later I have to sleep without a million people’s voices bombarding me, and we live in one of the most densely populated cities in the country, and I’m basically boned. You feel me?”

Steve fought to keep his laughter contained. “I feel you.”

“So… can you help me?”

 _This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,_ Bucky said.

“Goddammit, Bucky,” Steve and Tony said in unison.

Bucky sent him a shrug, and Steve returned his attention to Tony. “Of course I can help you. It’s what I do.” The smile that spread over his face was genuine. “When do you want to start?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehmergerd, it's done.
> 
> This entire thing was inspired by two people: Victoria Laurie and KnottaHooker. I started concepting it in March. IT IS DONE! \o/
> 
> The fic title and all of the chapter titles come from Counting Crow's "Angels of the Silences", which is an amazing song prominently featured on the fanmix. I will be posting the fanmix soon.
> 
> Thanks to ficbypen for the beta work and the cheerleading!! She kept me sane and she deserves a chocolate-covered fruit basket. The fruit should be chocolate-covered, not the entire basket. Just for clarification.
> 
> There will be a sequel. Look out for it. (If you want snippets and updates, hit me up at linneakou.tumblr.com !)
> 
> Go check out the art for this, I am such a lucky girl to have gotten paired with TWO amazeballs artists!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for: Wasted on the Dead and Dreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630384) by [KayQy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayQy/pseuds/KayQy)
  * [haunted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641073) by [deadeyeboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyeboy/pseuds/deadeyeboy)
  * [Dead and Dreaming (8tracks OST)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062219) by [LinneaKou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou)




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